THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 


THE 

UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

BY 
EDGAR  O.  ACHORN 

AND 

EDWARD  N.  TEALL 


BOSTON 

MARSHALL  JONES  COMPANY 
MDCCCCXTX 


COPYRIGHT,  1919 
BT   MARSHALL  JONES   COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


THE  UNIVEBSITT   PBE88,   CAMBRIDGE,  TJ.  8.  A. 


PART  ONE 


2134084 


THE 
UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

PART  ONE 

CHAPTER  I 

MIDNIGHT  was  long  past,  and  the 
fire  in  the  grate  was  burning  low; 
but  as  minute  after  minute  was  ticked  off 
by  the  old  clock  on  the  mantel,  Chester 
Clarke  still  sat  in  his  study  absorbed  in  his 
review  of  the  incidents  of  the  evening.  He 
had  attended  a  dinner  given  by  the  Sons  to 
the  Daughters  of  the  American  Revolution. 
While  the  speakers  had  rehearsed  once  more 
the  oft-told  tales  of  Boston's  Colonial  his- 
tory, "  that  chain  of  events  which  led  to  the 
American  Revolution,  and  finally  secured 
the  liberty  and  independence  of  the  United 
States,"  he  had  occupied  himself  with  an 
unconcerned,  time-passing  survey  of  the 
audience. 

The  chance  opening  of  a  vista  across  the 
room  had  given  him  a  glimpse  of  a  woman 
whose  appearance  had  impressed  him  so 

3 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

swiftly  and  so  deeply  that  thereafter  he  had 
neglected  no  opportunity  to  note  some  new 
detail  of  her  extraordinary  charm :  the  black 
abundance  of  her  lustrous  hair;  the  delicacy 
of  her  profile;  the  brilliant  play  of  light  and 
shadow  over  her  expressive  face;  the  poise 
of  her  head;  the  beauty  of  her  neck  and 
shoulders ;  the  perfect  contour  of  her  figure. 
These  things  alone  would  not  have  moved 
him  so  deeply;  but  they  were,  he  perceived, 
the  outward  manifestations  of  such  a  dis- 
tinctly individual  personality  as  he  had 
never  seen  before.  The  grace  of  her  every 
motion  served  to  indicate  to  him  the  crown- 
ing graciousness  of  a  lovely  character. 
Something  indefinable  about  her  suggested 
that  she  was  a  stranger  to  her  present 
surroundings. 

Chester  Clarke  had  not  been  looking  for 
"  the  one  woman,"  but  he  had  accepted  with- 
out question  the  certainty  of  her  ultimate 
appearance,  and  now  he  knew  that  he  was 
in  her  presence.  It  was  all  very  simple;  it 
was  also  satisfying.  He  must  meet  this 
woman;  he  must  establish  a  claim  upon  her 
acquaintance.  He  waited  calmly  for  the 
opportunity.  It  was  not  long  withheld. 
The  after-dinner  "exercises"  came  to  their 

4 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

appointed  close.  The  last  speaker's  last 
word  was  uttered.  As  the  audience  dis- 
persed, Clarke  kept  his  lady  in  sight  as  she 
passed  from  the  dining  room  into  the  par- 
lors. An  acquaintance  of  his  stopped  to 
speak  to  the  elderly  couple  who  accom- 
panied her,  and  in  a  moment  more  he  had 
secured  the  desired  introduction. 

He  recalled  now,  with  some  amusement, 
the  eagerness  with  which  he  had  seized  upon 
the  opportunity,  and  the  earnestness  of  his 
endeavor  to  compass  in  a  few  minutes  what, 
with  a  strict  regard  for  the  conventionalities, 
should  have  been  the  work  of  days.  That 
she  had  responded  so  sympathetically  to  his 
informal  advances  augured  well.  He  real- 
ized now  that  he  should  have  been  startled, 
perhaps  dismayed,  when  she  was  named  to 
him  as  "Mrs.  Willoughby."  That  implied 
the  possibility  of  embarrassing  complica- 
tions. Could  his  premonitions  of  affinity,  so 
vividly  convincing,  have  disregarded  the  ex- 
istence of  a  legal  obstacle?  He  had  felt  no 
misgivings,  he  remembered,  even  in  the  brief 
interval  before  she  had  so  unaffectedly,  so 
naturally,  let  him  know  that  she  was  a 
widow.  She  had  indeed  "let  him  know," 
she  had  not  distinctly  told  him,  she  had  not 

5 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

proclaimed  the  fact;  she  had  simply  made 
him  aware  that  there  had  been  a  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby.  She  had  also  let  him  know  that 
she  was  mother  to  a  noble  boy  and  a  beauti- 
ful little  girl.  She  was  visiting  these  old 
friends  of  her  family,  out  in  the  suburbs ;  her 
own  home  was  in  Topeka.  She  remarked 
that  in  a  day  or  two  she  was  going  to 
Toronto  to  join  her  children,  who  were  in 
school  there. 

As  Clarke  reconstructed  the  situation,  he 
rejoiced  in  the  discovery  of  the  one  woman 
in  the  world  who  could  meet  a  man  half  way, 
with  unconventional  frankness,  yet  with 
perfect  womanliness  of  decorum.  She  had 
given  him  the  address  of  the  friends  with 
whom  she  was  staying.  Then:  "Come, 
Louise,"  they  had  called;  and  the  interview 
closed  with  the  graceful  inanities  of  a  con- 
ventional parting. 

So  Chester  Clarke  had  been  guilty  of  that 
last  monstrosity  of  the  emotions,  "love  at 
first  sight."  Well  —  so  be  it!  There  were 
classic  precedents.  (If  anyone  thought  that 
Chester  Clarke  needed  the  support  of  prece- 
dent.) At  any  rate  what  had  happened  had 
indubitably  happened,  and  if  it  had  been 
rather  radical,  the  utmost  —  and  the  least 

6 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

—  that  a  confirmed  conservative  could  do 
was  to  see  it  through. 

Chester  Clarke  had  had  a  noble  mother; 
their  relations  had  been  peculiarly  sympa- 
thetic and  tender.  She  had  died  before  he 
had  emerged  from  his  teens,  but  the  mem- 
ory of  her  life  and  her  teachings  had  been 
cherished. 

His  admiration  of  her  had  naturally  ex- 
tended to  her  sex.  Because  he  had  honored 
his  mother,  he  honored  all  women.  He  was 
not  deaf  to  the  call  of  sex,  but  he  was  not 
romantic.  He  was  chivalrous,  and  he  liked 
women.  He  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  society 
of  intelligent,  womanly  women.  He  had 
had  a  sister  of  about  his  own  age,  and  the 
home  had  been  the  centre  of  a  young  social 
set.  His  fads  were  masculine,  completely. 
He  had  pulled  an  oar  in  a  winning  Harvard 
crew,  and  since  his  college  days  he  had 
gained  some  renown  as  a  hunter  of  big  game. 
But  he  had  always  come  back  from  his  trips 
into  the  wilds  with  renewed  zest  for  social 
functions  —  particularly  if  they  had  literary 
flavor. 

Like  all  manly  men,  he  had  had  his  "  cub  " 
love  affairs  and  he  had  sometimes,  in  the 
spirit  of  adventure,  taken  up  the  challenge 

7 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

which  some  woman  had  thrown  down;  but 
he  had  never  carried  these  affairs  to  the  ex- 
treme, he  had  preferred  to  incur  the  con- 
tempt of  the  lady  rather  than  to  smirch  his 
own  honor  or  hers.  He  represented  the 
Puritan  tradition  at  its  very  best. 

As  for  marriage,  Clarke,  like  every  other 
normal  man,  had  looked  forward  to  the  day 
when  he  should  marry,  and  become  the  head 
of  a  family;  and,  like  every  other  man,  he 
had  formed  his  ideas  as  to  what  the  inevi- 
table woman  would  be  like.  But  he  had  not 
tried  to  "make  a  choice"  among  the  many 
eligible  young  ladies  of  his  acquaintance ;  he 
had  always  felt  that  some  day  the  right 
woman  would  appear,  and  he  had  no  doubt 
that  he  would  quickly  recognize  her. 

He  had  never  thought  of  marrying  a 
widow  —  and  a  widow  with  two  children! 
Yet,  now  that  he  had  met  the  lady,  that  was 
her  exact  status  —  a  widow  with  two  chil- 
dren. But,  so  complete  had  been  his  sur- 
render, the  fact  did  not  disturb  him,  did  not 
cause  a  moment's  wavering.  He  turned  to 
his  desk,  and  wrote,  without  hesitation  or 
seeking  after  suitable  words: 


8 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  THE  BOLINGBROKE, 
"BOSTON,  March  15,  19 — . 

"My  DEAR  MRS.  WILLOUGHBY:  — 

"  I  know  that  in  sending  this  note  I  lay 
myself  open  to  criticism,  but  you  were  so 
very  kind  this  evening  that  I  venture  to 
make  this  appeal. 

"  Is  it  not  possible  for  me  to  have  another 
opportunity   of   meeting   you   before   you 
leave  Massachusetts?     I  should  consider  it 
a  great  good  fortune  if  I  might! 
"  I  am,  I  assure  you, 

"Most  sincerely  yours, 
"CHESTER  CLARKE." 

Having  written  this  note,  Clarke  stood 
for  more  than  a  minute  looking  at  his 
mother's  picture  on  the  mantel  over  the  fire- 
place. Then  he  snapped  off  the  light  and 
went  to  bed. 


9 


CHAPTER  H 

fTIHE  next  day  was  a  long  one  for 
A  Clarke.  He  spent  it  at  his  law  office, 
where,  holding  himself  mechanically  to  his 
task,  he  got  through  an  extraordinary  amount 
of  work.  None  of  his  associates  had  reason 
to  suspect  that  his  calm  exterior  concealed 
a  state  of  mind  the  description  of  which, 
coupled  with  Chester  Clarke's  name,  they 
would  have  considered  flatly  incredible. 

That  night  he  went  to  a  dance.  It  was 
better  than  sitting  in  his  room  in  the  apart- 
ment, or  at  one  of  his  clubs ;  but  all  evening, 
as  all  through  the  day,  he  found  his  mind 
preoccupied  with  speculation  on  the  out- 
come of  the  adventure  upon  which  he  had 
launched;  an  adventure  only  in  the  best 
meaning  of  the  word.  He  wondered  if  Mrs. 
Willoughby  would  plead  previous  engage- 
ments. She  had  met  him  with  remarkable 
frankness,  and  with  something  more  than 
cordiality;  but  could  he  justly  assume  that 
her  manner  had  been  more  frank  and  cor- 
dial than  it  would  have  been  with  another 
10 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

man  —  with  any  other  man  she  might  have 
met  under  the  same  circumstances? 

Ah !  but  could  she  have  met  any  other  man 
under  the  same  circumstances  —  quite  the 
same?  For  Clarke  felt  that  she  must  have 
known  that  he  did  not  regard  that  introduc- 
tion as  a  casual,  common  thing.  He  was 
certain  that  no  one  else  among  those  present 
could  possibly  have  suspected  how  impor- 
tant the  immediate  winning  of  this  woman's 
friendly  interest  had  suddenly  become  to 
him ;  and  he  was  equally  positive  that,  to  her, 
it  had  been  no  more  secret  than  a  lofty  spire 
glittering  in  the  sunlight. 

So  much  for  his  part.  What  of  hers  ?  She 
had  recognized  his  secret,  he  could  not  doubt, 
in  one  swift  flash  of  comprehension.  But 
why,  understanding  him  thus  intimately, 
had  she  met  him  with  so  much  encourage- 
ment? Was  she  insincere?  It  is  not  always 
the  man  who  betrays!  No — her  sweet 
womanliness  was  her  guaranty.  She  had 
had  experience  of  the  world,  and  it  had  not 
hardened  her;  it  had  given  her  insight  and 
assurance,  swift  understanding  and  clear 
judgment,  enabling  her  to  adopt  a  course 
of  conduct  without  experimental  manoeu- 
vring. And  if  he  was  right,  then  surely  the 
11 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

woman  for  whose  coming  he  had  waited  had 
at  last  entered  upon  the  stage  of  his  life. 

Clarke  felt  sure  that  she  would  reply  to 
his  letter.  She  might  say  that  she  did  not 
care  to  meet  him  again,  privately;  or  she 
might  appoint  a  time  and  place,  with  full 
recognition  of  the  seriousness  of  his  inten- 
tions. There  had  been  too  much  of  clear, 
unobstructed,  intuitive  understanding  in 
their  brief  first  conversation  to  be  followed 
by  anything  but  finality,  for  happiness  or 
sadness,  in  the  correspondence  which  he  had 
initiated. 

The  first  mail  the  next  morning,  deliv- 
ered at  Clarke's  apartment  just  before  the 
customary  moment  of  his  departure  for  the 
office,  brought  him  an  envelope  which  must 
be  hers.  He  recognized  at  once  her  quality 
in  the  handwriting  of  the  address,  and  the 
confirming  evidence  of  the  postmark.  The 
words  within  were  few,  but  eminently  satis- 
factory to  the  reader. 

"  I  was  glad,"  she  said,  simply,  "  to  have 
your  note.  I  shall  be  in  town  shopping  to- 
morrow, and  you  may  see  me  at  the  Somer- 
set at  three  o'clock."  And  "tomorrow" 
then  was  "  today  "  now.  A  few  more  hours, 
and  he  would  be  with  her. 
12 


As  he  walked  through  the  Public  Garden 

—  just    a   little   jauntily!  —  he   grasped    a 
passing  ragamuffin  by  the  arm,  put  a  quar- 
ter into  his  non-resistant  hand,  smiled  into 
his    puzzled    face    and    said:    "Everybody 
ought  to  be  specially  happy  today,  my  boy 

—  let's  start  it."    Then,  seeing  one  or  two 
passersby    looking    at    him    curiously,    he 
quickly    brought   himself    down    from   the 
clouds,  and  proceeded  with  more  customary 
dignuy  to  the  scene  of  his  daily  labors. 

He  tried  to  forget  himself  in  the  exac- 
tions of  his  profession.  He  drew  some 
papers  which  his  elder  partner  proclaimed 
a  work  of  pure  genius  —  Law  married  to 
Poetry  —  and  made  in  a  moment  decisions 
which  ordinarily  would  have  been  slowly 
pondered.  And,  timing  himself  to  reach  the 
hotel  at  exactly  five  minutes  before  three,  he 
closed  his  desk  and  went  out. 

"Mrs.  Walter  Willoughby":  the  name 
was  easily  found  on  the  hotel  register,  for 
the  handwriting  was  markedly  individual. 
But  the  signature  affected  Clarke  in  an  un- 
defined, vaguely  disturbing  way.  Walter! 
In  a  little  while  she  would  discard  her  for- 
mer husband's  name.  Probably  it  was  un- 
reasonable for  him  to  consider  her  present 
13 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

retention  of  it  rather  more  prolonged  than 
was  quite  necessary. 

This  was  but  a  fleeting  impression,  and 
did  not  delay  him  long.  He  sent  up  his  card, 
and  seated  himself  in  the  ladies'  parlor, 
where  he  would  have  the  best  view  of  her  as 
she  entered  the  room.  As  she  paused  just 
a  moment  at  the  door,  and  then  as  she 
crossed  the  room  to  meet  him,  he  was  over- 
whelmed again  by  her  beauty  and  by  that 
peculiar  charm  of  graciousness  which  had 
attracted  him  at  the  dinner  of  the  Sons  and 
Daughters.  Second  impression  not  only 
confirmed  but  magnified  the  first. 

He  wondered  what  would  be  her  first 
words.  Her  cordial  smile  seemed  to  convey, 
more  adequately  than  the  words  of  a  con- 
ventional greeting  could  have  done  it,  the 
fact  that  she  welcomed  him;  and,  selecting 
one  from  a  cluster  of  rosebuds  in  her  hand, 
she  said: 

"  Do  you  like  flowers?  But  of  course  you 
do  —  you  love  them !  May  I  give  you  this  ? " 

And  she  drew  the  stem  through  his  but- 
tonhole. It  was  a  simple  thing  enough. 
Was  it  ingenuous  simplicity,  or  a  rehearsed 
device?  Clarke,  manlike,  admired  the  com- 
bined daintiness  and  deftness  of  her  man- 
14 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

agement ;  and  was  conscious,  as  she  stood  so 
near,  of  a  radiance,  an  aroma  —  a  combined 
appeal  to  the  senses  that  was  intoxicating, 
but  at  the  same  time  supersensual.  This 
must  be  what  the  spiritists  tried  to  express 
in  their  favorite  word  "aura." 

In  the  moment  that  was  consumed  in  con- 
ducting her  to  a  secluded  alcove  of  the  large 
room,  Clarke  steadied  himself.  The  self- 
possession  of  the  Clarkes,  which  had  failed 
them  in  no  crisis  of  life  since  the  first  of  their 
long  line  had  bought  the  ancestral  acres  from 
their  aboriginal  owners  for  a  jug  of  "fire- 
water," saved  him  from  embarrassment. 
Mrs.  Willoughby's  unaffectedly  unconven- 
tional friendliness  banished  all  possibility 
of  awkwardness.  Conversation  naturally 
reverted  to  their  first  meeting. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  it  was  only  an 
impulse  that  made  me  go  to  that  dinner  the 
other  night?  I  hadn't  intended  to  go  out, 
but  almost  at  the  last  moment  the  whim 
came  upon  me,  and  I  went.  Wasn't  it 
great  luck?  I  should  probably  never  have 
met  you,  had  it  not  been  for  that  sudden 
impulse,  and  I  assure  you,  I  so  seldom  do 
things  in  that  rather  childish  way  that  I  de- 
clare I  believe  my  lucky  star  was  working 
15 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

for  me !  I  do  not  know  whether  to  be  grate- 
ful to  a  kind  Providence,  or  to  the  blind  god 
of  Chance." 

"Why,  Mr.  Clarke,"  she  said,  "how 
strange!  Really,  it  was  only  by  accident 
that  I  was  there,  myself.  I  had  n't  been  out 
since  my  husband  died,  almost  a  year  ago. 
My  friends  begged  me  to  go  with  them,  and 
I  simply  couldn't  resist  —  they  are  such 
dear  old  people,  and  family  friends  of  long 
standing,  you  know.  So  I,  too,  almost 
stayed  away." 

"How  very  human  we  both  were,"  said 
Clarke,  "going  to  our  good  fortune  under 
protest!  Though,  of  course,  I  can't  expect 
you  to  be  as  much  pleased  with  the  result 
as  I  am!  Perhaps  you  are  wondering  how 
I  could  ever  have  been  so  unceremonious, 
and  are  going  to  scold  me?" 

"Oh,  dear"  —  it  seemed  almost  the  affec- 
tionate vocative,  rather  than  the  impersonal 
expletive  —  "Oh,  dear,  no!  Not  at  all! 
Really,  I  understand  you  better  than  that. 
You  were  anxious  to  be  nice  to  me,  the 
stranger  in  the  crowd.  And  it  was  pleasant 
to  have  you  greet  me  so  informally,  with 
such  frank  friendliness." 

"You  really  are  a  stranger  in  Boston?" 
16 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  Not  exactly  a  stranger.  Rather,  an  old 
friend  revisiting  the  town.  Father  sent  me 
here,  when  I  was  a  slip  of  a  girl,  to  study 
music  —  the  violin.  We  of  the  West,  while 
professing  to  despise  your  *  effete  East/ 
really  worship  it.  And  the  Boston  Con- 
servatory of  Music  was  thought  of  as  a  Par- 
nassus in  Massachusetts.  So  I  came  here 
to  study,  and  I  knew  the  city  very  well  then. 
It  seems  strange  to  me  now." 

She  sighed  prettily,  and  Clarke  thought 
how  unprotected,  how  possibly  lonely  she 
seemed. 

"  Father  was  very  proud  of  my  playing," 
she  said  brightly,  after  a  moment  of  sympa- 
thetic silence,  in  which  she  seemed  to  be  thor- 
oughly appreciating  his  unworded  friendli- 
ness. "  But  after  a  couple  of  years  of  study 
here  I  went  off  to  New  York,  for  a  year, 
and  was  married  to  Mr.  Willoughby  and  — 
there  was  a  sudden  end  to  the  budding 
career!" 

"  What  a  pity !  But,  surely,  you  did  not 
give  up  your  music  entirely?" 

"Oh,  no!  Sometime  you  shall  hear  me 
play.  Once  each  year  we  had  a  grand  musi- 
cale  out  home,  with  professionals  down  from 
the  city  —  St.  Louis,  you  know.  And  I,  as 

17 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

an  amateur,  always  took  a  part.  I  really  en- 
joyed it,  and  my  friends  were  kind  enough 
to  say  that  they  did,  too.  The  newspapers 
of  the  State  always  sent  a  reporter." 

"  I  am  sure  everybody  must  have  enjoyed 
it,  Mrs.  Willoughby." 

Clarke  spoke  with  conviction ;  and  his  ap- 
preciative auditor  did  not  remind  him  that, 
having  never  heard  her  play,  he  was  hardly 
qualified  to  pass  judgment.  She  seemed, 
womanlike,  to  be  too  completely  satisfied 
with  the  kindness  of  his  assertion  to  be  con- 
cerned about  its  critical  competence. 

"But  how  you  must  have  regretted  giv- 
ing up  your  career,"  he  added. 

"Regretted  it?  Well,  yes  —  and  no. 
You  see,  my  husband  took  me  to  his  home  in 
the  West,  where  the  great  and  famous  Wil- 
loughby Works  are.  You  have  heard  of 
them,  of  course ;  but  you  cannot  possibly  im- 
agine what  an  Institution  —  with  a  capital 
I  —  they  are  out  there.  I  was  busy  with  my 
new  home,  and  then  the  children  came  — 

She  used  these  little  pauses  with  artistic 
skill. 

"Was  Mr.  Willoughby  a  music  lover?" 
Clarke  asked.    "  Did  he  share  your  delight 
in  these  entertainments?" 
18 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

A  slight  film  seemed  to  him  to  screen  the 
warm  light  of  her  eyes  as  she  replied: 

"  Mr.  Willoughby  was  fond  of  only  one 
thing,  and  that  was  —  business.  He  was 
proud  of  my  accomplishments ;  but  he  never 
had  time  to  enjoy  them  with  me.  He  was 
always  busy.  He  wore  himself  half  out 
making  his  fortune;  and  when  it  was  made, 
he  wore  himself  out  completely,  making  it 
bigger." 

"Are  your  children  musical?" 

Mrs.  Willoughby's  face  brightened,  the 
shadow  fled. 

"  Alice  is,"  she  said.  "  Ernest  is  just  like 
his  father,  strong  willed  and  difficult  to 
manage.  He  has  no  great  gift  for  music, 
but  he  plays  fairly  well,  and  enjoys  it  with 
me.  But  oh,  Mr.  Clarke,"  she  hastened  on, 
"  what  a  responsibility !  Alice  is  a  dear  little 
thing,  she  has  never  given  me  a  moment  of 
anxiety.  Ernest  is  a  fine  fellow,  but  then  — 
he  is  a  boy,  and  I  am  only  a  woman,  as  he 
might  say  —  so  unfitted  for  the  great  task 
of  bringing  up  a  boy.  I  have  only  one  am- 
bition for  him.  Wealth,  station,  fame,  a 
great  career — I  don't  care  for  these  things, 
if  I  can  only  help  him  grow  up  to  be  a  clean, 
honest,  noble  man.  If  I  can  give  him  char- 
19 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

acter,  these  other  things  will  take  care  of 
themselves.  You  are  a  man,  you  must  know 
about  such  matters,  where  I,  a  woman,  can 
only  plan,  and  hope  —  and  wonder.  Am  I 
not  right,  dear  Mr.  Clarke,  —  please  tell  me 
I'm  right!" 

"You  are  right,  Mrs.  Willoughby  —  in- 
deed you  are!  Your  son  has  such  a  mother 
as  I  myself  was  blessed  with.  Your  words 
seem  to  me  like  an  echo  of  hers.  In  her  dear, 
old-fashioned  way  she  used  to  quote:  'the 
pomp  of  circumstance  and  the  pride  of 
power '  —  you  know,  Gray's  lines  about '  the 
inevitable  hour,'  and  '  the  paths  of  glory.' ' 

He,  too,  paused  a  moment;  whether  skil- 
fully or  not,  certainly  with  effect.  Then  he 
said: 

"But  there  is  your  father.  He  must  ex- 
ercise a  great  and  helpful  influence  upon 
your  Ernest." 

"  Father?  Oh,  if  my  dear  son  would  only 
turn  out  as  well  as  he  has !  He  had  no  edu- 
cation to  speak  of,  and  he  fought  his  way  to 
the  top  by  sheer  force  of  character  and  in- 
tellect. Business  could  not  spoil  him!  I 
wish  you  could  know  him  —  I  am  sure  you 
will,  some  day.  We  were  inseparable  when 
I  was  a  child.  But  he  is  not  well,  now,  and 
20 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

he  can't  be  with  Ernest  as  much  as  I  should 
like  to  have  him,  and  as  he  would  like  to  be. 
My  mother  is  different.  She  is  very  re- 
served ;  distant,  even  with  her  own  children. 
She  never  really  understood  me." 

"  Did  your  father  and  mother  come  East 
with  you,  Mrs.  Willoughby?" 

"No,  they  are  at  my  home  in  Topeka. 
My  father  went  out  there  to  close  up  my 
husband's  estate,  and  take  care  of  my  inter- 
ests. Things  would  have  been  in  very  bad 
shape,  without  his  splendid  business  instinct 
and  experience." 

Another  of  those  momentary  silences,  in 
which  they  seemed  to  effect  an  even  more 
complete  exchange  of  ideas  than  was  pos- 
sible to  them  through  the  spoken  word. 
Then  she  said: 

"  After  my  husband's  death  I  did  not  care 
to  stay  in  Topeka.  The  place  was  simply 
impossible.  I  brought  the  children  East  and 
put  them  in  school  —  in  Toronto.  I  am  just 
going  back  to  them  now." 

"I  can  quite  understand,"  said  Clarke, 
"how  dreary  Topeka  would  seem  to  you, 
after  your  husband  was  gone." 

"  No,  Mr.  Clarke,  you  can't  —  really,  you 
can  not !  It  was  not  his  loss  alone  that  made 
21 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  place  unbearable  to  me.  It  was  the  Wil- 
loughby  family."  She  spoke  with  unre- 
pressed  intensity.  "My  husband's  sisters 
and  his  brothers'  wives  —  they  had  always 
resented  my  presence,  as  an  intruder.  You 
can  have  no  idea  what  a  little  empire  they 
rule  over.  They  are  autocrats.  As  long  as 
Father  Willoughby  was  alive,  they  did  not 
show  their  feeling  toward  me  openly.  He 
was  the  emperor,  and  they  were  afraid  of 
him.  But  when  he  was  gone,  their  spite  and 
petty  jealousy  showed  itself.  He  was  al- 
ways good  to  me,  but  I  know  that  he  under- 
stood them  and  knew  how  they  really  re- 
garded me,  for  one  day  he  said  to  me: 
'Louise,  they  are  all  jealous  of  you!  I  can 
understand  it  perfectly,  too,'  he  said, '  though 
I  can  do  nothing  to  prevent  it.  You  are  a 
woman  who  will  never  have  many  friends 
among  your  own  sex.'  And  I  never  have. 
I  wonder  why?" 

She  paused  long  enough  to  give  Clarke 
opportunity  to  formulate  a  complimentary 
answer  in  his  mind,  but  not  to  express  it 
orally;  then  she  resumed: 

"  I  did  my  best  to  get  along  with  them  all, 
but  they  seemed  always  to  suspect  me  of 
some  kind  of  unfriendly  intentions  —  I 
22 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

don't  know  what,  and  I  am  quite  sure  I 
never  gave  them  any  cause  for  such  un- 
friendliness;  but  there  it  was,  a  very  real 
and  a  very  unpleasant  thing.  And  now 
they  are  all  hovering  around  poor  old  Mother 
Willoughby,  just  waiting  for  her  to  die  — 
she  has  the  Willoughby  millions  now,  you 
see.  Oh,  this  money,"  she  exclaimed,  with  a 
vehemence  that  made  her  in  Clarke's  eyes 
more  charming  than  ever,  "  how  I  despise 
it!  Not  for  its  own  sake,"  she  added,  just 
a  little  archly,  "  but  for  the  things  it  does  to 
the  people  who  let  it  rule  their  lives  and  de- 
stroy their  happiness." 

"  Are  you  going  back  to  Topeka? "  asked 
Clarke.  ' 

"  Only  long  enough  to  pack  up  and  move 
out.  My  father  is  going  to  build  a  house  in 
San  Francisco,  and  I  shall  make  my  home 
with  him  —  that  is,  if  mother  is  willing  to 
have  me  and  the  children  live  with  them.  If 
it  were  not  for  them,  I  should  be  quite  alone 
in  the  world." 

She  spoke  the  words  calmly  enough,  but 
to  Clarke  they  seemed  sad.  He  wanted  to 
tell  her  that  she  need  never  be  alone  in  the 
world  while  he  was  in  it ;  but  he  did  not  trust 
himself,  and  so  he  let  the  conversation  turn 
23 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

into  less  intimately  personal  channels.  They 
were  very  happy  together. 

The  afternoon  waned,  and  rude  barbari- 
ans began  to  invade  the  privacy  of  their  re- 
treat. Clarke,  preparing  to  wrench  himself 
away  from  this  charming  company,  said : 

"I  wish  that  we  might  have  dined  to- 
gether, but  I  have  an  imperative  engage- 
ment for  this  evening.  It  happens  that  I 
am  the  president  of  the  Harvard  Alumni 
Association,  and  tonight  we  have  our  annual 
dinner.  It  is  to  be  a  very  special  occasion, 
too,  for  we  are  to  entertain  the  Presidents 
of  Yale  and  Princeton." 

"How  delightful!" 

"  I  would  gladly  forgo  the  distinction  of 
having  these  two  celebrities  on  either  side  of 
me,  to  dine  with  you  —  but  the  gallery  is 
to  be  reserved  for  the  ladies.  Perhaps  you 
would  do  me  the  honor  to  attend  ?  It  would 
be  a  great  pleasure  to  escort  you  there,  and 
to  your  hotel  after  the  speaking.  I  don't 
like  to  think  of  your  spending  a  lonely  even- 
ing—  and  it  would  be  a  wonderful  inspira- 
tion to  have  you  present,  if  I  may  make  so 
selfish  a  plea." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Clarke,"  she  cried,  "  how  good 
of  you!  I  should  enjoy  it  more  than  any- 
24 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

thing  else  that  could  happen!  It  will  be 
a  real  treat.  It  is  ages  since  I  have  heard 
any  good  public  speaking  —  and,  besides,  it 
will  be  fun  to  see  how  you  acquit  yourself." 

"Very  well,  then  —  it  is  settled.  I  shall 
call  for  you  at  half  past  six." 

And  he  went  away,  to  await  with  such 
patience  as  he  might  command  the  coming 
of  the  appointed  time. 


25 


CHAPTER  m 

LARKE  was  on  his  way  to  Toronto, 
to  spend  a  week-end  with  the  Wil- 
loughbys.  As  he  travelled,  his  mind  passed 
in  review  the  events  that  marked  the  history 
of  his  friendship  with  Mrs.  Willoughby :  the 
meeting  at  the  dinner  of  the  Sons  and 
Daughters ;  his  note,  requesting  a  more  inti- 
mate interview,  and  her  favorable  reply; 
their  delightful  afternoon  at  the  Somerset, 
and  the  Harvard  dinner  the  night  before  her 
departure  for  Canada. 

That  had  been  a  wonderfully  successful 
night,  and  had  strengthened  their  mutual 
understanding.  He  had  obtained  for  her  a 
front  seat  in  the  balcony,  where  many  ladies 
gathered  as  the  hour  for  the  speaking  ap- 
proached. As  usual,  she  had  been,  quite 
without  ostentation,  the  most  eye-command- 
ing figure  of  them  all ;  her  costuming  was  so 
perfectly  in  tune  with  the  occasion,  and  her 
manner  so  completely  adjusted  to  the  situ- 
ation. From  her  place  of  vantage  she  had 
26 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

seen,  and  appreciated  to  the  full,  a  most  im- 
pressive manifestation  of  the  spirit  of  the 
men  of  Harvard. 

Clarke,  presiding,  had  been  at  his  best: 
stimulated  by  pride  in  his  college  and  by 
satisfaction  in  the  presence  of  his  friend.  It 
had  been  a  Harvard  night  long  to  be  remem- 
bered, from  the  first  moment  to  the  last 
when  all,  standing,  sang  "  Fair  Harvard." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  had  been  deeply  im- 
pressed by  the  significance  of  this  foregath- 
ering of  the  men  who  represented,  individu- 
ally and  collectively,  the  standards  and  the 
influence  of  Harvard.  The  enthusiasm  of 
the  diners  had  struck  a  responsive  chord  in 
her  own  vivacious  spirit,  and  she  had  not 
failed  to  appreciate  at  its  full  value  the 
strength  and  beauty  of  the  idea  that  ran 
through  all  the  speeches  —  the  exhortation 
to  maintain  the  high  standard  of  civic  duty 
demanded  by  the  inspiring,  and  exacting, 
traditions  of  the  old  college. 

'  You  Harvard  men  retain  in  all  its  pur- 
ity the  New  England  tradition,"  she  had 
said.  "I  liked  your  address  —  yes,  I  liked 
it  very  much.  But  I  liked  your  little  in- 
troductions of  the  speakers  even  more. 
They  were  like  the  stars,  that  shine  quietly 
27 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

and  do  not  envy  the  sun  its  greater  oppor- 
tunities. And  I  think  we  like  the  stars  even 
more  than  we  do  the  sun  —  don't  you?" 

This  little  trick  of  deference  appealed  to 
Clarke's  masculine  sense  of  superiority. 

"  I  have  to  thank  you  for  a  most  delight- 
ful evening,"  she  had  said.  "My  boy  must 
go  to  Harvard." 

The  next  morning,  Mrs.  Willoughby  had 
gone  back  to  Toronto,  to  rejoin  her  chil- 
dren. She  had  asked  him  not  to  go  to  the 
station  to  see  her  off,  as  he  wished  to  do; 
and  her  request  had  puzzled  and  disap- 
pointed him,  though  he  had  acquiesced  with 
a  readiness  of  compliance  which  he  felt  that 
he  could  never  withhold  from  her,  however 
unnecessarily  exacting  her  demands  might 
seem.  She  had,  however,  granted  without 
hesitation  his  request  to  be  allowed  to  write 
to  her,  and  during  the  intervening  weeks 
they  had  engaged  in  a  correspondence  which 
had  been  to  Clarke  an  unfailing  wellspring 
of  delight.  And  now,  in  a  few  hours,  he 
was  to  see  her,  to  hear  again  her  musical 
speech,  to  feel  the  touch  of  her  hand,  to  live 
a  little  while  in  that  strange  exaltation  to 
which  her  near  presence  seemed  always  to 
raise  him. 

28 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

He  reached  Toronto  as  the  night  was  set- 
ting in.  He  had  just  time  to  dress  com- 
fortably for  dinner. 

In  one  of  the  parlors  of  the  hotel  he  found 
Mrs.  Willoughby  and  the  children  awaiting 
him.  The  fine  air  of  almost  deferential  re- 
gard for  his  approval  with  which  she  pre- 
sented them  to  him  impressed  him  as  the  sin- 
cerest  and  best  compliment  that  had  ever 
been  rendered  him.  And  it  was  a  pleasure 
to  meet  such  children.  Ernest  was,  as  his 
mother  had  described  him,  a  tall,  manly 
chap  of  thirteen,  with  a  light  complexion, 
tawny  hair,  and  a  more  serious  expression 
than  is  common  to  boys  of  his  age.  He 
seemed  to  feel  the  responsibility  of  his  posi- 
tion as  the  oldest  male  member  of  the  family, 
and  therefore  properly  to  be  regarded  as  its 
head.  He  took  Clarke's  hand  with  a  firm, 
strong  clasp,  and  a  mingled  modesty  and 
assurance  that  pleased  the  visitor  greatly. 

Alice  was  like  her  mother.  Her  hair  and 
skin  were  darker  than  her  brother's.  She 
was  slim  and  graceful;  and  on  being  intro- 
duced, she  curtseyed  in  English  fashion. 
The  children  were  delightfully  free  from  the 
modern  self-assertiveness  that  so  often  re- 
verses the  old-fashioned  idea  of  the  superior 
29 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

right  of  their  elders  to  attention,  and  they 
were  also  pleasantly  advanced  beyond  the 
harsh  dictum  of  an  earlier  generation  that 
children  should  always  be  seen  and  not 
heard. 

Clarke  studied  them  swiftly  in  those  first, 
important  moments.  He  was  extremely 
anxious  to  establish  himself  in  their  good 
graces,  and  he  knew  that  Mrs.  Willoughby 
hoped  just  as  sincerely  that  they  might  make 
a  wholly  favorable  impression  on  him.  He 
felt  immediately  sure  that  he  and  the  little 
girl  would  become  good  friends  without  diffi- 
culty, but  of  the  boy  he  was  not  quite  so  cer- 
tain. There  was  a  quiet  reserve  about  the 
lad  that  made  Clarke  wonder  if  he  were 
definitely  guarding  against  the  possibility 
of  conferring  the  gift  of  his  friendship  too 
soon  upon  one  who  might  possibly  usurp  the 
place  he  felt  to  be  rightfully  his — the  place 
of  protector,  if  not  as  yet  provider,  that  had 
been  left  vacant  by  the  death  of  his  father. 
Clarke  did  not  make  the  mistake  of  under- 
estimating the  boy's  capacity  for  under- 
standing a  situation  and  formulating  a 
course  of  conduct  for  himself.  He  knew 
that  to  attempt  openly  to  win  the  friendship 
of  this  boy  would  be  a  sure  way  to  defeat 
30 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

his  own  purposes.  He  must  simply  wait  for 
Ernest  to  come  to  him.  It  would  not  be 
easy,  but  it  was  the  only  way. 

As  he  passed  down  the  long  dining  hall 
with  his  tall  hostess  at  his  side  and  the  chil- 
dren following,  Clarke  thanked  Heaven  as 
he  never  before  had  thought  of  doing  for  the 
height  of  figure  it  had  given  him,  and  for 
the  manly  proportioned  breadth  of  his  shoul- 
ders. It  was  impossible  to  make  that  prog- 
ress without  being  pleasantly  conscious  of 
the  interested  glances  of  the  people  seated 
at  the  tables.  To  act  as  escort  to  this  tall, 
darkly  beautiful  woman  was  no  slight  test 
of  a  man's  self-possession,  and  fitness  of  ap- 
pearance. And  it  was  an  innocent  vanity 
that  made  Clarke  enjoy  it  almost  as  if  it  had 
been  a  personal  triumph,  even  here  among 
strangers. 

At  the  table,  opposite  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
with  the  children  on  either  side  between 
them,  Clarke  played  paterfamilias,  and  en- 
joyed it  thoroughly. 

"  What  a  pleasant  place  for  your  tempo- 
rary home,"  he  remarked.  "  It  is  just  Eng- 
lish enough  in  atmosphere  to  be  attractive, 
and  has  all  the  American  comforts.  May 
I  ask  how  you  came  to  settle  in  Toronto?" 
31 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"A  friend  recommended  it  as  the  one 
place  where  Ernest  could  find  a  school  con- 
ducted on  the  Rugby  plan,  both  in  methods 
of  instruction  and  in  discipline;  and  Alice, 
too,  could  have  the  advantage  of  a  girls' 
school  like  those  in  England.  They  say  the 
English  schools  are  equal  to  ours  in  all  re- 
spects, and  superior  in  some;  for  instance, 
in  the  training  in  deportment,  which  I 
consider  as  important  as  mathematics  or 
history." 

Clarke  smiled  at  Ernest,  and  the  boy 
responded. 

"  It  gives  a  fellow  the  finest  kind  of  train- 
ing," he  said.  "  I  'm  'way  ahead  of  the  chaps 
of  my  age  back  home.  We  have  jolly  sport, 
with  drill,  and  soccer  and  rugger.  Cricket 
is  n't  half  so  slow,  either,  the  way  these  fel- 
lows play  it.  And  isn't  it  odd,  one  of  our 
best  boys  is  named  Tom  Brown.  We  drill 
with  real  guns,  too.  That's  the  best  thing 
about  it.  They  are  twenty-twos,  and  we 
have  target  practice." 

"Mr.  Clarke  can  well  understand  your 
enjoyment  of  that,  Ernest,"  said  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby;  "you  know,  he  is  a  famous  sports- 
man, and  no  doubt  he  can  tell  you  some 
good  stories  about  his  adventures." 
32 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  Have  you  shot  big  game,  sir? "  asked  the 
boy,  his  eyes  bright  with  curious  interest. 

'Yes,"  said  Clarke,  "I  have  hunted  in 
South  America,  in  our  own  West,  and  in 
British  Columbia — in  fact  pretty  much 
everywhere  that  game  can  be  found  on  this 
side  of  the  world.  Some  day  I  hope  to  do 
Africa  and  India.  How  would  you  like  to 
go  on  a  hunting  trip  with  me,  some  time? " 

"  That  would  be  great  fun,"  the  boy  ex- 
claimed. "  But  I  should  like  to  hear  some 
of  your  stories,  right  now." 

"I  should  like  to  hear  them,  too,"  said 
Alice.  "If  they  are  not  too  cruel,"  she 
added.  "I  like  to  hear  about  adventures, 
even  if  I  am  only  a  girl,  but  I  don't  like  to 
think  of  the  animals  getting  shot  —  unless 
they  are  very  wild  and  dangerous." 

"  Mr.  Clarke  will  have  to  get  up  a  ladies' 
edition  of  some  of  the  stories  for  us,  little 
daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby.  "  Some 
day  we  shall  hear  them  together ;  but  now  it 
is  time  for  you  young  folks  to  be  at  your 
evening  lessons." 

Turning  to  Clarke,  she  said :  "  They  al- 
ways spend  an  hour  before  bed-time  with 
their  books.  We  have  a  splendid  governess, 
who  has  a  wonderful  knack  of  making  study 
33 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

interesting.  She  goes  over  the  day's  work 
with  them  each  evening,  and  is  remarkably 
effective  in  making  their  class  instruction 
*  stick." 

As  Ernest  and  Alice  went  off  to  the  fam- 
ily apartment,  their  mother  said: 

"  They  are  bright  children,  and  stand  high 
at  school,  but  I  think  they  are  perfectly 
normal;  I  mean,  normally  lively — mis- 
chievous and  gay." 

"They  are  fine  children,"  said  Clarke. 
"Bright,  jolly,  full  of  fun  and  good  spirits 
—  and  wonderfully  well  trained.  You 
should  be  a  proud  mother,  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby!" 

"Indeed,  I  am,"  she  replied;  and  by  the 
light  in  her  eyes,  he  saw  that  his  enthusiastic 
appreciation  of  the  children's  virtues  had 
scored.  Besides  satisfying  the  natural 
mother-pride,  he  had  gratified  the  beauti- 
fully naive  craving  for  praise  that  he 
counted  one  of  her  most  adorable  qualities. 

The  children  gone,  they  two  sat  and 
talked,  in  the  pleasant  half -isolation  of  a 
cosy  corner  of  the  hotel  parlor. 

"Really,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby,  "while 
the  children's  education  was  an  important 
factor  in  my  decision  to  come  here,  it  was 
34 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

not  the  principal  one.  They  could  have 
done  just  as  well  in  the  schools  of  our  own 
East.  But  the  situation  at  Topeka  was  be- 
coming intolerable.  I  had  taken  care  of  my 
husband  all  through  his  illness,  and  was 
pretty  well  worn  out  at  the  end." 

'You  must  have  been,"  said  Clarke. 
"  Is  n't  it  curious,  how  paths  so  widely  sepa- 
rated as  were  yours  and  mine  at  that  time 
should  since  have  crossed,  and  joined?" 

She  smiled  brightly. 

"It  was  not  only  the  physical  strain,"  she 
went  on,  "  but  the  wear  and  tear  of  nerves. 
I  was  surrounded  by  those  who  were  not  at 
all  friendly  to  me,  and  in  the  midst  of  vul- 
gar intrigue.  It  was  the  worst  possible  place 
for  the  children.  They  were  constantly 
hearing  talk  about  money,  and  social  posi- 
tion—  everything  except  what  healthy,  in- 
nocent young  people  ought  to  hear.  So  I 
just  decided  to  run  away." 

"  It  was  the  wisest  thing  you  could  have 
done,  and  you  seem  very  comfortably  settled 
here.  But  do  you  not  find  it  lonely,  with 
the  children  gone  all  day? " 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  I  could  have  them 
with  me  every  minute,"  she  said.  "But  it 
would  not  do  for  them,  for  Ernest  espe- 
35 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

cially,  to  be  kept  too  closely  at  home.  They 
have  their  own  little  interests,  and  I  do  not 
mean  to  dictate  every  thought  and  act  of 
their  lives." 

"That  is  the  commonest  of  parental 
errors,"  said  Clarke.  "  You  are  to  be  con- 
gratulated as  possessor  both  of  the  knowl- 
edge and  of  what  is  still  more  rare,  the  abil- 
ity to  regulate  your  conduct  by  it.  But  how 
do  you  occupy  your  time  through  the  day; 
have  you  friends  here?" 

"At  first,  it  was  delightful  just  to  be 
alone.  I  rested,  and  enjoyed  the  peace  and 
quiet,  the  freedom  from  the  clash  and  clatter 
of  those  utterly  selfish  folk  at  Topeka.  It 
was  almost  like  being  a  nun,  those  first 
weeks  in  Toronto;  I  spent  a  good  deal  of 
time  in  meditation,  and  found  it  refreshing 
and  restorative." 

"And  then,"  suggested  Clarke,  "as  you 
regained  your  normal  strength  and  mental 
comfort?  You  see,  I  am  frankly  curious, 
and  ready  to  stretch  the  definition  of 
friendship  to  make  it  include  a  good  deal 
of  questioning.  Can  you  put  up  with  it? " 

"What  could  be  easier?  Of  course,  as  I 
began  to  look  about  more,  I  found  various 
interests  to  concern  myself  with.  A  woman 
36 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

has  always  the  shops,  you  know,  and  church. 
Then  there  was  a  course  of  public  lectures 
at  the  University  on  '  The  Religious  Motive 
in  English  Literature.'  They  were  given 
by  Professor  Hargrave,  of  Oxford.  I  at- 
tended the  course,  and  enjoyed  the  lectures 
and  also  profited  by  them  greatly." 

"  I  know  Hargrave,  by  reputation,"  said 
Clarke.  "  He  is  said  to  be  a  fine  scholar." 

"A  very  human  one,  too,"  she  com- 
mented. "But  when  I  first  met  him,  he 
was,  oh,  such  a  homesick  body!  It  was 
almost  funny  to  see  him,  he  was  so  complete 
a  victim ;  one  thinks  of  a  giant  of  intellect  as 
being  immune  to  the  common  afflictions. 
Really,  it  was  pathetic,  and  I  undertook  to 
do  what  I  could  to  comfort  him.  He  had 
dinner  with  us  two  or  three  times,  and  he 
took  us  all  to  the  Ice  Carnival." 

"That  ought  to  have  cured  him,"  said 
Clarke. 

"It  is  best  to  be  perfectly  frank  and  I 
shall  be  so.  The  cure  was  so  complete  that 
the  patient  became  the  test  of  the  physi- 
cian's endurance.  The  Professor  has  been 
rather  persistent  in  his  attentions.  I  don't 
suppose  there  is  anything  to  be  done,  but 
it  is  a  relief  to  have  told  you  about  it." 
37 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"And  as  the  tale  ends  it  is  a  relief  to 
hear  it,"  he  commented,  somewhat  humor- 
ously, "although  I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel 
a  measure  of  sympathy  for  the  Professor." 

The  conversation  took  another  turn,  and 
shortly  after  the  children  appeared  and 
Clarke  bade  the  family  good  night. 

The  next  day,  Sunday,  he  went  to  church 
with  the  family  in  the  morning,  and  in  the 
afternoon  drove  through  the  parks  of  the 
city.  It  was,  for  Clarke,  a  memorable  ride. 
Sitting  beside  this  beautiful  woman,  he  felt 
her  personality  every  moment  of  the  way  as 
he  had  never  imagined  such  a  companion- 
ship could  be  felt.  Once  they  left  the  car- 
riage for  a  minute,  to  enjoy  a  roadside  view; 
and  as  Mrs.  Willoughby  took  the  hand  he 
proffered  to  assist  her  in  alighting,  it  seemed 
to  him  he  could  never  let  it  go.  Laughing 
to  cover  the  earnestness  of  his  feeling,  he 
told  her  so.  She  smiled,  and  uttered  only 
a  word  of  playful  protest;  but  she  gave  his 
hand  a  little  pressure  more  eloquent  than 
words. 

When  Clarke  went  back  to  Boston  and 
his  work,  he  carried  with  him  happy  mem- 
ories and  a  strengthened  conviction  of  the 
permanence  of  this  new  relationship. 
38 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  MONTH  later,  and  Chester  Clarke 
was  expecting  a  visitor  from  Toronto. 
When  he  himself  had  been  a  visitor  there, 
it  was  winter.  Now  the  season  was  chang- 
ing, and  with  the  vernal  joys  had  to  be 
counted  the  near  approach  of  her  gracious 
presence. 

No  wonder  the  doves  on  the  Common  put 
forth  their  brighter  iris,  and  the  human 
cooers  graced  the  benches.  The  Frog  Pond 
had  been  cleaned  and  flooded  with  the  neces- 
sary number  of  quarts  of  fresh  water.  The 
swan  boats  in  the  Public  Garden  had  been 
brought  out  and  recommissioned  for  their 
summer's  work;  the  pansy  beds  had  been 
set  in  readiness  for  their  annual  bloom- 
ing at  the  feet  of  Washington,  where  the 
Father  of  his  Country  patiently  bestrides 
his  impetuous  steed.  The  Sacred  Cod,  as  if 
revivified  by  secretly  administered  doses 
of  grandmotherly  sulphur  and  molasses, 
gleamed  in  every  scale  with  more  ineffable 
effulgence.  It  was  spring  in  Boston;  not 
39 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  irrepressible,  effervescent,  songful  spring 
of  softer  climes  —  but  spring  as  Boston 
knows  it. 

Chester  Clarke  shared  the  invigorating 
impulse  with  the  rest  of  the  Boston  micro- 
cosm; and  with  more  reason,  because  for 
whom  else  had  the  warming  days  so  great 
a  joy  in  store? 

During  the  weeks  the  letters  that  had 
passed  from  Boston  to  Toronto,  and  from 
Toronto  to  Boston,  had  been  steadily  fre- 
quent, and  increasingly  intimate.  They 
had  not  yet  become  fervent;  but  they  were 
affectionate. 

His  letters  had  been  written  always  in 
perfectly  conventional  terms  —  but  they 
were  founded  upon  the  fact  that  he  was 
deeply  in  love,  and  upon  the  conviction  that 
his  love  was  known  and,  in  some  measure 
at  least,  reciprocated.  It  had  now  become 
his  settled,  and  avowed,  purpose  to  marry 
Mrs.  Willoughby  just  as  soon  as  he  could 
remove  whatever  obstacles  might  be  up- 
raised in  the  path  of  his  determination. 

And  her  letters  to  him?    She  had  written, 

fully  and  frankly  and  with  perfect  trust,  of 

her  own  daily  experiences,  of  the  children's 

work  and  play,  of  the  news  that  came  from 

40 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  West,  of  her  plans  for  the  future.  She 
had  spoken  of  Alice's  frequent  mention  of 
him;  but  of  Ernest  she  said  less.  Ernest, 
he  knew,  would  be  an  important  factor  in 
his  problem.  He  felt  sure  the  boy  liked 
him,  as  a  man,  and  would  be  ready  to  admit 
him  to  his  friendship.  But  the  boy  was  so 
zealous  —  even  jealous  —  a  guardian  of  his 
mother,  so  proud  of  his  position  as  head  of 
the  fatherless  family,  that  Clarke  could  not 
imagine  him  giving  ready  acquiescence  to 
his  —  Clarke's  —  or  any  other  man's  inten- 
tion to  marry  Mrs.  Willoughby.  He  knew 
that  she  would  never  wholly  consent  to  any 
man's  suit  for  her  hand  and  heart  if  Ernest, 
growing  older  all  the  time,  and  more  en- 
titled to  a  voice  in  family  affairs,  opposed. 
He  admired  the  boy's  high  spirit,  and  he 
saw  clearly  how  important  it  was  to  win  him 
over.  But  the  boy's  opposition,  if  such  there 
was  to  be,  could  not  be  overridden.  Ernest 
was  "all  boy,"  but  in  some  respects  much 
older  than  his  years.  This  was  one  of  those 
obstacles  which  one  surmounts  only  by  going 
around  them.  From  her  later  letters  he  had 
gathered  that  the  situation  at  Topeka  was 
not  satisfactory  to  her;  that  something  was 
disturbing  her,  and  making  her  restless  in 
41 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

her  peaceful  Canadian  retreat.  She  was 
planning,  he  had  perceived,  to  leave  To- 
ronto; or,  if  not  yet  definitely  planning  a 
hegira,  she  was  tending  strongly  in  that 
(direction. 

And  so,  gratified  by  her  unrestricted  con- 
fidences and  eager  to  be  of  assistance,  he 
had  thrown  convention  aside  and  had  writ- 
ten her  suggesting  that  she  come  to  Boston 
for  a  few  days  before  going  back  to  Topeka. 
He  might  be  able  to  advise  her,  he  had  writ- 
ten, and  nothing  could  make  him  happier. 
His  engagements  were  such  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  go  north  again,  but  they  could 
easily  arrange  a  meeting  in  Boston;  and, 
besides,  he  was  entitled  to  a  return  visit. 

In  reply,  she  had  written,  with  character- 
istic frankness,  that  she  had  considered  his 
suggestion  and  would  accept  it;  she  would 
send  the  children  on  to  Topeka  in  care  of 
their  governess,  and  would  come  to  Boston 
as  soon  as  they  were  on  their  way  West. 

And  now,  with  spring  just  beginning  to 
warm  the  land  and  stir  anew  the  hearts  of 
men,  she  was  coming!  It  was  a  fine  even- 
ing, with  soft  air  and  clear  skies,  when  at 
last  the  reward  of  patience  came  and  Clarke 
went  to  the  North  Station.  It  was  a  great 
42 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

moment  for  him  when  the  train  from  the 
North  rolled  in. 

He  hurried  down  the  platform,  and  was 
at  the  car  step  as  she  descended.  As  she 
saw  him  waiting  there  her  face  brightened 
with  that  wonderful  smile  of  hers,  and  as 
he  grasped  her  hand  she  said,  with  an  undis- 
guised pleasure  that  was  most  precious  to 
him,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Clarke!  How  glad  I  am  to 
see  you !  As  we  passed  through  the  suburbs, 
and  then  as  the  lights  of  the  city  began  to 
flash  by,  I  became  almost  frightened — it 
seemed  so  dreadful  to  think  that  something 
might  have  happened  to  keep  you  from 
coming  to  meet  me ! " 

"  And  I,"  said  Clarke,  "  would  have  been 
in  a  panic  if  you  had  not  been  on  this  train. 
I  should  have  imagined  the  most  appalling 
things.  Reason  might  have  told  me  that 
any  little  untoward  incident  could  have  de- 
tained you,  that  there  would  surely  be  a  tele- 
gram explaining  the  delay — and  yet,  a  fear- 
ful imagination  would  have  outvoiced  all 
the  promptings  of  reason,  and  I  should  have 
worried  terribly." 

In  a  moment  Clarke  had  arranged  for  the 
care  of  Mrs.  Willoughby's  luggage,  and  in 
a  moment  more  they  were  sitting  side  by  side 
43 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

in  a  cab.  It  was  the  first  time  in  all  their 
acquaintance  that  they  had  been  alone,  to- 
gether, in  perfect  privacy! 

The  beautiful  woman  who  sat  beside  him 
had  come  to  him,  defying  the  tyranny  of 
social  convention.  Why?  Suppose  he  could 
not  say,  as  he  would  have  wished  to  say, 
"Because  she  loves  me."  No  one  could 
challenge  his  right  to  say,  "Because  she 
trusts  me ! " 

Every  atom  of  chivalry  in  his  being  re- 
sponded to  the  situation.  How  he  would 
have  liked  to  caress  her!  Yet  the  very  ele- 
ments that  had  entered  into  and  had  brought 
about  the  situation  forbade  it.  It  only  re- 
mained for  him  as  he  felt  the  thrill  of  her 
presence  to  modulate  the  exultation  in  his 
voice,  and  keep  himself  within  the  bounds  of 
"propriety" — to  reaffirm  his  pleasure  at 
seeing  her,  and  to  ask  a  dozen  commonplace 
questions. 

Clarke  had  engaged  an  apartment  for  her 
at  the  Sympatica  on  Commonwealth  Ave- 
nue. He  had  spent  several  hours  in  select- 
ing it;  among  many  possibilities,  this  was 
perfection.  The  parlor  was  not  too  large 
to  be  cosy,  and  was  decorated  and  furnished 
in  the  best  of  taste.  The  windows  opened 
44 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

upon  the  Avenue.  The  nights  were  still 
pretty  sharp,  and  an  open  fire  burned  cheer- 
fully in  the  grate.  The  table  was  laid  for 
dinner  for  two,  and  in  the  centre  of  it  a  vase 
of  La  France  roses  was  gloriously  beautiful. 

Clarke  did  not  ask  her  if  she  liked  it.  He 
knew  she  would. 

"How  cosy!  How  homelike!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "What  beautiful  roses!  How 
thoughtful  of  you!" 

Clarke  had  planned  the  dinner  and  it 
proved  a  great  success.  Its  crowning  joy 
came  when,  as  they  reached  the  end,  he 
lighted  a  cigarette  and  watched  this  beauti- 
ful woman  pour  the  coffee. 

She  asked  whether  he  would  have  two 
lumps  of  sugar  or  one.  There  was  domes- 
ticity for  you  —  the  dream  of  the  bachelor 
made  real!  Then  with  an  arch  smile,  she 
passed  him  his  cup  as  if  quite  cognizant  of 
the  thoughts  that  ran  through  his  mind. 

A  little  later  Mrs.  Willoughby  asked  if 
she  might  be  excused  to  change  her  travel- 
ling dress  for  something  more  comfortable. 
"  I  know  you  want  me  to  feel  quite  at  home," 
she  said. 

Clarke  placed  an  easy  chair  before  the 
fire  and,  lighting  a  cigar,  looked  over  the 
45 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Transcript  while  he  waited,  like  a  true 
Bostonian. 

When  she  came  back,  and  stood  before 
him,  she  seemed  as  one  "  confessing  the  god- 
dess in  her  walk,"  so  lovely  was  her  presence 
and  so  fitting  to  the  part  the  filmy  thing  she 
wore.  It  was  of  soft  material,  cut  low  at 
the  throat  and  falling  in  classic  lines  from 
a  loose  girdle  high  at  the  waist. 

"  Do  you  like  my  selection? "  she  asked. 

"Like  it!"  he  exclaimed.  "Like  it?  I 
more  than  like  it!  It  is  charming — I  can 
hardly  believe  you  to  be  anything  but  a 
Greek  goddess,  come  to  make  our  Boston 
the  Athenian  paradise  we  pretend  it  is." 

Pleased  with  the  compliment,  she  said : 

"Foolish  man!  You  behold  no  goddess, 
Greek  or  Bostonian — but  just  a  very  tired 
American  woman,  afflicted  with  a  traveller's 
headache.  And  she  would  like  to  lie  down 
on  this  couch  and  rest;  and  you  may  sit 
beside  her,  and  talk  to  her  if  you  will." 

Clarke  jumped  out  of  his  chair. 

"Do  let  me  make  you  comfortable,"  he 
said.  "  How  selfish  of  me,  to  forget,  in  my 
enjoyment  of  our  reunion,  that  you  must  be 
quite  worn  out  after  your  long  journey." 

He  placed  a  pillow  for  her,  he  turned  out 
46 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

the  electric  jet  on  the  wall  above  her,  leav- 
ing the  room  in  a  more  subdued  light.  Then 
he  stood  looking  down  at  her,  as  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
forehead. 

"Perhaps  I  can  help  you,"  he  said.  "I 
have  often  relieved  a  headache  by  stroking 
the  temples.  My  dear  mother  used  to  say 
I  had  a  healing  hand." 

"May  I  try?"  he  asked,  attempting  to 
keep  his  voice  from  betraying  the  eagerness 
of  his  desire. 

She  answered  with  a  smile,  and  just  the 
suggestion  of  a  nod  of  assent.  He  ran  his 
fingers  across  her  forehead  and  temples  and 
through  the  masses  of  her  hair.  Conversa- 
tion grew  halting,  then  ceased  altogether. 

Again  and  again  she  opened  her  eyes,  as 
if  resisting  the  drowsiness  that  descended 
upon  her,  then  the  heavy  lids  fell  —  and  she 
was  asleep. 

Clarke  sat  and  watched  her.  Her  breath- 
ing became  deep  and  regular.  How  lovely 
she  seemed,  how  sweet,  how  pure;  and  how 
she  trusted  him!  Her  trust  was  well 
founded  on  his  love.  He  rose,  cautiously 
crossed  the  room,  took  up  an  afghan  and 
spread  it  over  her. 

47 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

He  bent  over  her,  gently,  carefully;  and 
touched  her  forehead  softly  with  his  lips. 
Then  he  took  his  hat  and  coat  and  tiptoed 
out  of  the  room. 

The  next  morning,  shortly  before  ten 
o'clock,  Clarke  stopped,  on  his  way  to  the 
office,  to  pay  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby  and  to  arrange  a  programme  for 
the  day. 

She  apologized  for  her  rudeness  in  falling 
asleep  and  neglecting  her  caller.  Clarke 
gave  back  apology  for  apology,  saying  that 
he  must  have  been  terribly  dull,  thus  to  "  put 
her  to  sleep." 

"  You  did  put  me  to  sleep,"  she  said,  "  and 
it  was  the  very  best  thing  anyone  could  have 
done  for  me.  I  was  so  tired,  what  with  the 
train  ride  and  the  worry  I  had  been  through ; 
and  it  was  so  refreshing  to  sleep,  without 
feeling  any  sense  of  anxiety.  I  woke  just 
before  midnight,  and  after  saying  my 
prayers  went  to  bed,  my  headache  gone,  and 
such  a  perfect  peace  in  my  heart  as  I  had 
not  enjoyed  for  some  time." 

"  I  am  glad  you  had  a  good  night,"  said 
Clarke. 

Instead  of  replying  with  a  commonplace 
of  conversation,  she  gave  Clarke  one  of  those 
48 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

flashing  insights  into  the  depths  of  her  na- 
ture which  repeatedly  confirmed  and  en- 
larged his  regard  of  her  as  a  most  wonderful 
woman. 

"  Mr.  Clarke,"  she  said,  "  the  night  hours 
are  to  me  the  dearest  of  all.  I  think  when 
the  noises  of  the  day  have  subsided,  and  the 
night  draws  close  about  us,  our  spirits  are 
freed,  our  powers  expand,  and  we  are  more 
at  one  with  the  soul  of  the  universe,  nearer 
to  God.  I  suppose"  —  her  mind  always 
tended  to  give  even  to  such  speculations  a 
practical  application  —  "I  suppose  that  is 
why  the  Catholic  Church,  and  to  some  extent 
the  Episcopal,  have  masses  at  such  hours 
as  seem  to  most  Protestants  —  well,  say 
unreasonable." 

"Unreasonable?"  Clarke  repeated  the 
word,  with  interrogative  inflection.  "  The 
word  seems  to  me  to  fit  the  case  so  perfectly 
that  I  cannot  quite  make  out  why  you  em- 
phasized it  so  oddly." 

"Why  —  don't  you  see?  It  has  a  very 
special  fitness,  as  I  used  it.  Reason  should 
have  no  place  in  religion! " 

Somewhat  surprised,  Clarke  said  that  he 
would  not  care  for  a  religion  that  was  not 
built  upon  the  bed  rock  of  reason. 
49 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said.  "You  are  wrong! 
Religion  is  all  faith  and  love  —  and  faith 
comes  of  concentration  upon  the  Infinite  — 
and  our  finite  minds  come  closer  to  the  Ever- 
lasting Power  at  night.  Don't  you  see  what 
a  chain  it  makes?" 

"A  chain  of  logic,"  said  Clarke.  "And 
logic  is  reason!  But,"  he  hastened  to  add, 
"your  idea  of  faith  is  too  beautiful,  too 
purely  lovely,  to  be  assailed  with  rude  mas- 
culine arguments." 

"  And  we  are  not  going  to  argue  the  case 
of  Reason  versus  Faith  this  beautiful  morn- 
ing, are  we?  Let  us  each  make  some  conces- 
sion, and  say  that  reason  should  take  its 
light  from  faith,  and  faith  gain  greater 
strength  from  reason." 

Then,  with  one  of  her  charmingly  swift 
transitions  from  grave  to  gay,  she  asked: 

"Well,  sir,  what  have  you  planned  for 
this  lovely  day?  Surely  so  true  a  knight  will 
not  let  his  lady  languish — but  you  must  not 
let  my  presence  intrude  upon  your  profes- 
sional duties!" 

"My     professional     duties     end,"     said 

Clarke,  "at  four  o'clock  on  ordinary  days, 

but  an  hour  earlier  on  special  days,  like  this ; 

and  at  three  I  shall  call  for  you,  and  after  a 

50 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

good,  long  drive  through  the  country  we 
shall  dine  at  the  Touraine." 

"And  this  evening?"  she  asked. 

"This  evening,"  he  said  gravely,  "is  re- 
served for  our  consultation.  You  said,  you 
know,  you  were  anxious  to  *  consult'  me." 

"  Splendid,"  she  said.  "  But  all  the  time 
The  Law  is  waiting,  and  I  do  not  propose 
to  incur  its  wrath  by  keeping  you  another 
minute.  So,  au  revoir!" 

And  Clarke  went  to  work  with  a  light 
heart. 


CHAPTER  V 

PROMPTLY  at  three  o'clock  Clarke 
knocked  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby's  apartment.  As  he  entered,  she 
stood  by  the  mantel-shelf,  facing  him.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  with  anticipation.  The 
mid-afternoon  sunlight,  streaming  into  the 
room,  fell  full  upon  her — and  her  bold 
figure  and  dark  coloring  stood  the  test  as 
a  daintier  form  and  fairer  complexion  might 
not  have  done. 

'  You  are  punctual,  Mr.  Clarke,"  she  said ; 
"  and  I  am  ready." 

Then  her  radiant  smile  changed  to  a  look 
of  wonder,  and  this  in  turn  to  one  of  com- 
prehension and  joy,  for  Chester  Clarke's 
emotions,  long  pent  up  behind  the  dam 
reared  by  his  chivalrous  will,  had  burst 
forth,  and  stormed  over  him,  bearing  away 
like  foam  on  a  flooding  stream  all  his  stern 
resolves.  Mind  yielded  at  last  to  heart,  as 
in  the  end  it  does  for  normally  constituted 
folk;  and,  crossing  the  room  in  three  steps, 
he  clasped  the  lovely  woman  in  his  arms, 
52 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

kissing  her,  passionately.  He  kissed  her 
mouth — her  eyes — her  hair. 

She  did  not  resist.  She  did  not  move,  nor 
speak. 

At  length  he  gave  over,  and,  holding  her 
close,  with  her  head  resting  against  his 
shoulder,  he  said:  "Tell  me!  Tell  me 
that  you  love  me.  Louise — you  do!  You 
must! " 

She  did  not  speak.  He  saw  that  her  eyes, 
so  close  to  his,  were  veiled,  and  in  each  stood 
a  tear.  He  kissed  them  away. 

She  opened  her  eyes,  she  raised  them  to 
his.  How  tired  they  looked  —  but  trusting, 
brimming  full  with  love.  She  need  not 
have  spoken  a  word  to  carry  her  response. 
Her  pledge  was  visibly  recorded  in  her 
eyes.  But  she  did  speak — not  timidly,  not 
boldly,  but  with  the  best  sincerity  of  a 
woman  grown,  a  woman  who  knows  her  will, 
a  woman  who  is  won,  and  happily  yields, 
without  pretence  of  reservation. 

'Yes,  I  love  you,"  she  said;  and  again 
the  rain  of  kisses  fell. 

"And  you  will  marry  me,  dear  one?" 

His  voice  did  not  tremble,  but  his  hands 

were  cold.      'You  will  be  my  wife?     Oh, 

Louise,  my  darling,  I  lay  before  you  all 

53 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

that  I  am,  all  that  I  hope  ever  to  be! 
Thank  God  for  sending  you  into  my  lifel 
Tell  me  that  you  will  stay  there  forever  — 
and  let  me  care  for  you,  let  me  love  you. 
Will  you,  my  beautiful  Louise?" 

She  still  let  herself  rest  close  to  him.  She 
looked  up  at  him  confidingly;  and  yet,  her 
eyes  reflected  doubt.  What  could  it  be? 
Surely,  she  could  not  question  the  genuine- 
ness, the  permanence,  of  his  love!  Surely, 
she  must  know  that  back  of  the  sudden  dec- 
laration lay  a  long  history  of  love!  What- 
ever the  doubt  was,  he  would  kill  it. 

"Tell  me,  dear,"  he  said  softly,  "tell  me 
why  your  eyes  are  clouded,  when  your  heart, 
I  know,  is  filled  with  joy  ? " 

"  Oh,  Chester,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  prom- 
ise you  just  yet:  I  want  to,  I  really  do;  I 
love  you,  you  know  I  love  you!  But  there 
are  so  many  things  that  stand  in  the  way  — 
I  must  not  be  selfish,  there  are  others  to  be 
thought  of  first:  before  myself — yes,  even 
before  you!  Their  happiness  must  come 
first.  Oh,  Chester,  I  am  in  such  trouble! 
Don't  ask  me  the  great,  the  wonderful  ques- 
tion now.  Wait!  Is  it  not  enough  that  I 
tell  you  that  I  love — oh,  I  do  love  you! 
Isn't  that  enough  for  now?" 
54 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"  Dearest,  it  is  everything  —  almost  every- 
thing, and  I  can  wait,  if  you  say  we  must 
wait.  But  tell  me,  once  more,  you  love  me ! " 

"  Chester,  I  do,  I  love  you  more  than  life, 
more  than  anything — except  duty  to  my 
children.  They  must  come  first;  but  my 
heart  is  yours,  yours  forever." 

'  You  make  me  happy,  very  happy,  almost 
perfectly  happy.  But  now  you  must  know 
that  if  there  are  obstacles  that  stand  in  the 
way,  I  shall  be  always  beside  you,  to  help 
you  overcome  them.  If  you  are  in  trouble, 
I  shall  always  claim  the  right  you  have  now 
given  me,  to  share  it  with  you." 

As  by  a  single  impulse,  they  moved  to  the 
divan  and  sat  down  together;  Clarke  still 
holding  both  her  hands  in  his.  Now  and 
then  he  raised  them  to  his  lips. 

"Now,  dear,"  he  said,  "tell  me — tell  me 
everything.  I  only  know  parts  of  the  story ; 
tell  me  the  rest.  I  cannot  help  you  as  I 
wish  to  unless  I  know  every  detail." 

"It  is  a  long  story,"  she  said;  "too  long 
to  tell  now.  But  it  is  a  relief  to  be  able  to 
talk  to  you  without  reserve.  I  have  always 
trusted  you  more  than  anyone  else,  but  this 
is  different ;  now  there  is  not  a  detail  I  would 
wish  to  conceal  from  you,  not  a  fact,  how- 
55 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

ever  private  and  personal,  I  would  hesitate 
to  tell  you  about.  I  want  to  tell  you  every- 
thing, I  want  your  help  and  protection. 
Say  what  you  will,  let  her  be  courageous  as 
she  may  —  and  yet  the  woman  who  has  to 
fight  her  own  battles  in  the  world  is  to  be 
pitied;  a  woman  alone  is  so  —  so  incom- 
plete!" 

Clarke  blessed  her  for  the  brave  humor 
that  refused  to  let  its  light  be  dimmed  by  the 
shadow  of  any  trouble. 

"  And  I,"  she  added,  "  have  been  fighting 
—  all  alone — my  own  battles,  and  those  of 
my  children." 

He  drew  her  to  him,  kissed  her,  and  said: 
"Dear,  that  chapter  in  your  life  is  closed, 
those  difficulties  shall  not  oppress  you  again. 
They  are  mine  now —  and  I  will  take  care 
of  them!" 

She  thrilled  to  the  consciousness  of  his 
strength.  She  put  her  hand  over  his. 

"Heart's  desire!"  she  said;  not  tremu- 
lously, but  with  that  decision  which  he  ad- 
mired in  her. 

"  Heart's  satisfaction,"  he  exclaimed ;  and 
kissed  her  again. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  one,"  she  said,  "  we 
must  come  back  to  earth.  See  —  we  have 
56 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

kept  the  carriage  waiting  nearly  an  hour. 
Come — help  me  with  my  wrap." 

"  I  shall  tell  you  the  whole  story  tonight," 
she  said,  as  they  went  out. 

That  was  a  happy  drive! 


57 


CHAPTER  VI 

LARKE'S  unpremeditated  proposal 
had  made  it  more  than  ever  necessary 
for  these  two  people  to  attain  to  perfect 
understanding  of  what  had  now  become 
their  common  cause.  The  "consultation" 
was  now  not  merely  important  and  desirable, 
it  was  indispensable  and  inevitable.  There- 
fore after  dinner  they  returned  to  the  apart- 
ment, and  made  themselves  comfortable  in 
preparation  for  a  long  and  serious  talk. 
Clarke  savored  with  unalloyed  delight  the 
domesticity  of  the  situation.  Leaning  back 
in  his  roomy  armchair,  he  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  said : 

"Now  for  the  story!  And  you  shall  tell 
it  in  your  own  way ;  as  we  say  in  court,  with- 
out interruption  and  without  leading  ques- 
tions from  counsel." 

"No  —  please!"  she  said;  "that  would  be 
too  much  like  the  Judge's  solemn  charge  to 
the  jury.  I  would  much  rather  have  you 
ask  questions  and  give  suggestions  as  we 
go  along." 

58 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"Very  well,"  said  Clarke;  "but,  for  my 
part,  I  expect  to  do  much  more  listening 
than  talking." 

"  Where  shall  I  begin? "  she  asked. 

"  You  have  told  me  something  about  your 
married  life,"  he  hinted. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  I  shall  tell  you  more.  My 
husband  loved  me — in  his  own  way,  which 
was  not  the  way  a  woman  loves  to  be  loved ! 
It  is  because  of  that  very  fact  that  I  can  talk 
about  these  things  so  impersonally.  That 
kind  of  love  —  the  love  given  by  a  man  de- 
voted almost  exclusively  to  business:  per- 
haps it  would  be  unfair  to  say  that  it  is  not 
love,  but  certainly  it  is  not  to  be  identified 
with  that  mingling  of  souls  which  alone  can 
satisfy  the  need  of  a  woman's  nature.  It  is 
an  impersonal  thing.  The  woman  who  gets 
that,  and  nothing  more,  from  her  husband, 
may  be  comfortable,  but  she  cannot  be 
naPPv-  She  has  a  husband,  a  protector,  a 
provider,  but  not  a  mate.  Such  a  husband 
is  only  a  substitute  for  the  missing  half  of 
her  being." 

"  She  may  find  the  other  half,  later,  in 
another  man,"  said  Clarke ;  "  she  may  reap 
happiness  in  a  field  of  tragedy.    We  lawyers 
see  so  much  of  that!    But — " 
59 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  I  was  getting  into  generalities,  and  away 
from  my  own  particular  story.  Well:  It 
was  all  business,  business,  business,  with  Mr. 
Willoughby.  Life  was  trademarked  and 
dollarmarked,  and  gauged  by  percentages 
—  a  thing  of  principal  and  interest,  markets 
and  materials.  That  might  well  enough 
have  been  his  occupation  part  of  the  time, 
possibly  even  the  greater  part;  but  the  re- 
maining part  should  have  been  mine!  I 
would  not  have  interfered  with  the  business. 
It  would  have  made  me  happy  to  help  in  it, 
in  however  insignificant  a  way  —  just  to 
share  in  the  worries  and  to  rejoice  in  the 
successes. 

"I  mean  to  be  perfectly  fair,"  she  said, 
"  and  not  give  a  wrong  impression.  It  is  not 
easy,  and  you  must  first  of  all  be  sure  that 
you  understand  perfectly  that  Mr.  Wil- 
loughby was  never  for  a  moment  intention- 
ally unkind  to  me.  He  was  very  proud  of 
what  he  called  my  beauty,  of  my  social  suc- 
cesses, of  my  music,  my  public  appearances; 
but  it  always  seemed  to  me  a  pride  in  prop- 
erty. I  am  not  one  of  your  '  clinging  vine ' 
women;  but,  like  any  other  normal  woman, 
I  did,  and  do,  want  sympathy  —  understand- 
ing—  true  companionship;  and  these  things 
60 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

were  not  mine.  There  is  the  fact,  without 
coloring." 

'  You  have  reported  it  wonderfully  well," 
said  Clarke;  "and  good  reporting  is  more 
rare  than  artistic  interpretation." 

He  watched,  meditatively,  the  thin  column 
of  smoke  that  rose  straight  from  the  tip  of 
his  cigar,  then  broke  and  spiralled  with  the 
slight  movement  of  the  air.  Then  he  said : 

"Our  New  England  Longfellow  —  who 
may  perhaps,  as  they  say,  survive  only  in 
the  provinces,  but  who  seems  to  me  to  have 
combined  a  remarkable  measure  of  sheer 
human  feeling  with  his  Maine  character  and 
his  Cambridge  culture  —  says,  of  woman,  in 
the  Indian  epic: 

"As  unto  the  bow  the  cord  is, 
So  unto  the  man  is  woman: 
Though  she  bends  him,  she  obeys  him; 
Though  she  draws  him,  yet  she  follows  — 
Useless  each  without  the  other.' 

"Elementary,  perhaps  —  but  rather  satis- 
factory, I  should  say,  as  an  accommodation 
of  the  two  views :  the  characteristically  mas- 
culine and  the  characteristically  feminine. 
But  that  is  quite  in  the  abstract,  and  we 
61 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

need  to  be  concrete  in  our  consideration  of 
things  just  now." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Lawyer,"  Mrs.  Willoughby 
said,  smiling.  "  And  I  should  like  to  know 
who  is  sidetracking  the  story,  now! " 

"Mea  culpa,  mea  culpa!  Please  forgive 
me;  I  promise  to  do  better  from1  now  on! " 

"Well;  we  were  speaking  of  my  social 
successes,  as  the  queer  people  who  write  the 
'  society  column '  would  say.  Can't  you  see 
what  effect  those  successes  would  have  on 
the  other  Willoughbys  ?  They  were  j  ealous, 
they  envied  me  —  really !  And,  oh,  the  nar- 
rowness of  that  community!  Every  breeze 
that  blew  carried  gossip,  and  sometimes  even 
scandal.  It  was  like  what  someone  said  of 
Christiania.  Who  was  it?  Well — never 
mind;  I  have  forgotten  the  authorship,  but 
the  sentences  persist  in  memory ;  they  meant 
so  much  to  one  situated  as  I  was.  They  run 
this  way:  'Oh  great  and  little  City!  You 
are  great  enough  with  your  thousand  beaks 
to  peck  out  the  eyes  of  your  hapless  victim. 
You  are  not  great  enough  to  afford  a  place 
in  which  he  may  hide  himself! ' " 

'  That 's  clever ! "    Clarke  exclaimed, "  but 
is  it  just?    Does  the  criticism  apply  to  the 
whole  urban  middle  West? " 
62 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"One  would,  of  course,"  she  said,  judi- 
cially, "  make  some  exceptions.  I  have  often 
thought  about  it,  because  I  have  been  so 
much  in  contact  with  it.  And  this,  it  seems 
to  me,  is  the  explanation — I  am  always 
looking  for  explanations;  I  want,  like 
Budge,  or  was  it  Toddy,  to  see  the  wheels 
go  round:  the  illiberal  views  which  the  set- 
tlers of  the  Western  Reserve,  as  they  called 
it,  brought — from  New  England,  sir!  — 
spread  from  Ohio  to  the  Rockies.  You  have 
outgrown  them,  here  in  the  East;  but  out 
there  they  persist,  and  are  quite  as  marked 
as  they  ever  were  on  the  Atlantic  coast." 

She  warmed  to  the  subject.  She  had 
known  the  sting  of  this  illiberality  —  and 
the  burned  child,  if  he  be  a  child  of  spirit, 
not  only  dreads  but  hates  the  fire.  She  ran 
on: 

"No  theatres  of  any  standing — no  high 
class  opera  —  no  hotels  or  restaurants  where 
a  gentleman  can  take  a  lady  to  dine  alone 
without  incurring  the  penalty  of  comment." 

"  Thou  shalt  not  smoke  in  the  same  room 
where  thou  dost  eat,"  Clarke  interposed, 
blowing,  with  huge  relish,  a  great  cloud  of 
the  aromatic  fumes  of  Vuelta  Aba  jo.  He 
was  enjoying  life. 

63 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"  You  shall  not  bring  me  down  from  the 
clouds!  I  mean  to  soar — and  I  assure  you, 
it  is  the  wings  of  truth  that  sustain  me! 
Church  sociables  for  the  frivolous — thus 
far,  and  no  farther!  Prayer  meeting  at- 
tendance is  the  measure  of  merit  in  conduct. 
To  be  seen  talking  to  a  man  on  the  street 
is  to  be  engaged  to  him — or,  not  to  be  en- 
gaged, and  to  be  '  compromised.'  What  is 
the  result?  Driven  to  desperation  the  nou- 
veaux  riches  indulge  in  quiet  little  times  of 
their  own,  while,  perishing  of  ennui,  the 
young  women  scatter  to  the  palaces  of 
pleasure  in  more  naively  'human'  regions. 
You  see  them  —  you  see  a  great  deal  of 
them!  —  at  Palm  Beach  in  the  winter,  at 
Newport  or  Narragansett  Pier  in  the  sum- 
mer; in  New  York  for  the  Horse  Show  and 
Grand  Opera;  and  in  Europe.  They  are 
the  people  who  in  the  '  Tourist  Season ' 
travel  'in  pairs'  all  over  amazed  —  and 
amused  —  Europe,  where  they  gain  a  repu- 
tation as  'good  sports'  —  and  incidentally 
pass  as  typical  Americans." 

Although  Clarke  had  listened  to  this  ar- 
raignment with  keen  interest,  he  showed  by 
his  manner  that  he  did  not  endorse  it  in  all 
its  details. 

64 


THE  UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  It  does  sound  pretty  savage,  no  doubt," 
she  said,  quietly,  noting  his  attitude,  "but 
it  is  true — I  assure  you  it  is.  Perhaps  it 
isn't  just  what  a  woman  ought  to  say,  no 
matter  how  true  it  is;  but  it  has  all  played 
a  very  large,  and  a  very  unhappy,  part  in 
my  life." 

Clarke  answered  thoughtfully: 

"  It  must  have  been  bitter  for  you.  It  is 
remarkable  that  you  have  come  out  of  it  all 
unscathed." 

"In  a  sense,  I  have  not.  These  things 
were  all  so  unpleasant  to  me  that  I  with- 
drew more  and  more  from  the  social  com- 
panionship I  craved,  and  became  something 
of  a  recluse.  And  that  was,  mentally,  most 
unhealthy.  And  it  was  hard  to  keep  the 
children  from  being  affected  by  it  all.  I  had 
to  fight  for  them ! " 

'Yes,  I  can  imagine  it;  and  I  can  see 
now,  much  more  clearly  than  before,  how 
pleasant  the  peaceful  retirement  in  Canada 
must  have  been  to  you." 

For  a  few  moments  they  were  silent,  each 
thinking  things  that  did  not  fall  easily  from 
the  lips.  Mrs.  Willoughby  was  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  let  us  get  back  to  my 
65 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

own  story,  which  I  wish  you  to  know  in 
every  detail. 

"  The  story  comes  now  to  the  '  villain,' 
without  whom  no  story  is  complete. 

"John  Sharp  was  Father  Willoughby's 
confidential  adviser.  He  presented  himself 
as  a  graduate  of  an  Eastern  university,  and 
made  a  great  display  of  his  legal  training 
and  knowledge  —  which  I  always  thought 
was  more  the  work  of  his  own  very  efficient 
imagination  than  of  official  diplomas  or 
actual  practice.  But  he  was  clever,  terribly 
clever;  and  somehow  he  had  managed  to 
worm  himself -into  Old  Man  Willoughby's 
confidence.  That  was  Father  Willoughby's 
name  among  the  people  of  our  own  and 
several  other  States,"  she  explained. 

"John  Sharp  had  been  at  the  Works 
nearly  twenty-five  years.  He  knew  all  the 
patent  and  trade  secrets  of  the  business,  and 
the  knowledge  gave  him  a  most  dangerous 
power,  which  he  well  knew  how  to  use  to  his 
own  selfish  advantage.  Oh,  he  is  a  danger- 
ous man !  And  the  more  dangerous,  because 
he  wears  with  such  artless  grace  the  mantle 
of  his  respectability. 

"He  had  Father  Willoughby's  unquali- 
fied confidence.  The  old  gentleman  trusted 
66 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

him  implicitly  —  and,  I  think,  feared  him  a 
good  deal,  too.  When  I  entered  the  life  of 
the  Willoughby  family,  this  man  Sharp  was 
strongly  intrenched.  He  was  the  go-be- 
tween in  Father  Willoughby's  dealings, 
whether  with  the  family  or  with  the  army  of 
employees  at  the  Works.  He  was  a  dark, 
silent,  uncommunicative  man." 

"A  deacon  in  the  church,  I  suppose," 
Clarke  suggested. 

"  Well,  yes — that  is  about  the  way  a  man 
would  express  it.  And  now,  the  next  step. 
When  Father  Willoughby  died,  he  left  his 
whole  fortune,  unconditionally,  to  Mother 
Willoughby;  and  he  made  John  Sharp 
executor  of  the  will." 

"  That  was  a  hard  blow  to  Sharp ! "  Clarke 
commented  facetiously. 

'  You  see,"  Mrs.  Willoughby  continued, 
"he  is  still  after  that  fortune.  The  stakes 
are  high,  and  I  believe  he  will  play  a  des- 
perate game  —  anything  to  win. 

"When  the  family  rebels,  he  reminds 
them  that  if  the  Government  knew  one-half 
of  the  violations  of  law  that  the  Company 
has  been  guilty  of,  there  would  be  no  Wil- 
loughby millions  to  worry  about.  And,  he 
tells  them,  sometimes  with  unctuous  virtue 
67 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

and  sometimes  with  malice  —  for  he  varies 
between  those  two  characters  —  that  he 
knows,  not  one-half  the  story,  but  all!  So 
he  has  tamed  their  proud  spirits,  and  holds 
them,  as  the  saying  goes,  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand.  And  it  is  a  hand  that  is  ready,  when 
the  right  moment  comes,  to  close  upon  them 
with  a  deadly  grip,  or  to  clench  itself  fistwise 
and  strike  a  cruel  blow." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Clarke  thoughtfully, 
"  the  first  step  in  such  a  man's  scheme  would 
be  to  develop,  and,  when  the  time  comes,  to 
exercise  an  undue  influence  over  the  old 
lady's  —  over  Mrs.  Willoughby's  mind." 

'  Yes  —  you  have  hit  it  exactly!  He  has 
a  terrible  power  over  her.  Any  appeal  made 
to  her  by  a  member  of  the  family  is  referred 
to '  John/  as  she  always  calls  him.  They  all 
hate  him — and  they  all  fear  him." 

"  Again,  if  I  may  hazard  a  supposition  — 
as  a  lawyer,"  said  Clarke,  "such  a  man 
would  not  have  refrained  from  trying  to 
gain,  and  exert,  an  influence  over  you,  the 
mother  of  old  Mrs.  Willoughby's  grand- 
children." 

'  You  have  gone  straight  to  the  heart  of 
the  story — the  part  I  have  been  leading  up 
to,  and  dreading  to  arrive  at.     But  your 
68 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

perfect  understanding  makes  it  much  easier 
to  tell  —  and  I  want  you  to  know  the  facts 
just  as  I  know  them.  Here  they  are: 

"After  my  husband's  death  John  Sharp 
began  to  visit  my  house  frequently  —  always 
making  a  pretence  of  some  business  matter 
to  be  discussed.  This  was  unpleasant;  but 
what  made  me  hate  and  fear  him  was  his 
pretended  fondness  for  Ernest  and  Alice. 
When  that  sort  of  a  man  tries  to  be  nice  to 
children,  he  needs  watching!  No  such  feel- 
ing can  be  honest  with  him.  Trust  a  mother 
to  know  who  her  children's  friends  are!" 

What  a  wonderful  voice  she  had!  With- 
out altering  her  telling  of  the  story  in  the 
slightest  detail  that  would  have  been  appar- 
ent to  an  uninvolved  listener,  she  made  it 
perfectly  plain  to  Clarke,  by  the  inflection 
of  her  rich  tones,  that  she  well  knew  that  he 
was  the  true  friend  of  her  two  children.  He 
welcomed  the  tribute,  as  just  as  it  was  gener- 
ous. She  continued : 

"  He  began  by  pretending  affection  for 
the  children.  He  ended  —  by  proposing 
marriage  to  me!  He  intimated  that  the 
children's  interest  in  their  grandfather's 
millions  was  involved.  I  refused  him,  of 
course!  —  as  graciously  as  I  could,  for  I 
69 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

really  fear  the  man,  and  do  not  care  to 
antagonize  him  a  bit  more  than  I  can  help, 
while  preserving  self-respect.  He  went 
away  —  actually  threatening  us." 

She  paused.  The  strain  was  great.  She 
resumed: 

"After  that  he  became  more  constant 
than  ever  in  his  attentions  to  Mother  Wil- 
loughby.  I  believe  he  would  have  tried  to 
marry  her,  old  as  she  was  —  but  even  he  did 
not  quite  dare  go  so  far  as  that! 

"  One  day  Mother  Willoughby  dropped 
a  bombshell  in  the  midst  of  a  family  council 
by  calmly  announcing  Lucy's  engagement 
to  him." 

"Lucy?" 

"Oh!  Haven't  I  mentioned  her?  She 
was  the  *  queer'  one  of  the  family.  She 
kept  very  close  to  her  mother;  seemed  lost 
without  her.  Whatever  her  mother  said, 
Lucy  did — as  instinctively  as  if  it  had  been 
the  prompting  of  her  own  mind  that  urged 
her. 

"  She  has  no  will  of  her  own.  Her  en- 
gagement—  it  was  a  cruel  thing;  I  do  not 
see  how  her  mother  can  ever  be  forgiven  for 
encouraging  it.  She  must  have  known  that 
she  was  doing  an  unmotherly  thing. 
70 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"  So  John  Sharp  was  assured  of  a  goodly 
share  in  the  Willoughby  millions,  when  they 
should  come  to  be  distributed. 

"  It  was  the  talk  of  the  town.  My 
brothers-in-law  even  plucked  up  courage 
enough  to  go  to  their  mother  about  it,  but 
she  would  give  them  no  satisfaction.  I  think 
she  was  maliciously  happy  at  having  them 
give  her  the  opportunity  to  do  it  so  officially. 

"  Well,  John  Sharp  married  Lucy  —  poor 
girl! — and  after  the  wedding,  whenever 
there  was  no  one  to  notice  it,  he  leered  at  me, 
triumphantly.  Now  Mother  Willoughby  is 
lavishing  her  money  on  them  —  on  her  poor, 
simple-minded  daughter,  and  her  decidedly 
not  simple-minded  new  son-in-law. 

"Oh,  money,  money,"  she  cried,  "what 
a  trail  of  wickedness  and  suffering  and  sor- 
row it  leaves ! " 

Then,  more  quietly,  she  brought  the  story 
to  its  finish. 

'  You  see  how  I  have  had  to  fight  for  my 
children.  But  there  is  one  more  point  —  a 
most  important  one  for  us:  Mother  Wil- 
loughby could  never  agree  to  my  marrying 
again.  The  mere  suggestion  would  wound 
her  in  the  one  tender  spot  of  her  nature. 
You  see,  I  have  been  the  wife  of  her  best 
71 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

loved  son,  her  Joseph.  He  was  most  like 
his  father,  and  she  loved  him  most.  For 
anyone  who  had  been  her  son's  wife  to  love 
another  man  —  to  marry  another  man  — 
would  be,  to  her,  a  sacrilege,  an  iniquity ;  the 
betrayal  of  a  sacred  bond. 

"And  then,  there  is  my  dear  Ernest. 
Do  you  know,  young  as  he  is,  he  has  actually 
told  me,  in  so  many  words,  that  he  is  never 
going  to  marry  —  he  wishes  to  love  no 
woman  but  me.  And  don't  you  see  the 
natural  corollary?  He  thinks  that  as  my 
love  satisfies  him,  so  his  should  be  enough 
for  me.  Of  course,  he  does  n't  understand ; 
how  could  he?  But  there  is  the  fact;  and 
Chester  dear,  you  will  see  how  necessary  it 
is  for  us  to  be  patient,  and  wait.  And," 
she  added,  wearily,  "  in  any  case  I  must  talk 
to  my  father  about  it." 

She  had  borne  the  strain  bravely,  but 
even  her  fine  fibre  had  been  overtaxed.  Now 
she  sat  very  still. 

Clarke  arose  and,  standing  beside  her, 
stroked  her  hair  gently,  as  he  said: 

"  It  has  been  hard  for  you,  but  there  is  a 
way  out,  and  we  shall  find  it.  Don't  you 
know,"  he  said  pleadingly,  "  Love  conquers 
all  things?" 

72 


CHAPTER  VH 

MRS.  Willoughby  spent  three  days 
more  in  Boston,  and  on  the  morning 
of  each  day  Clarke  called  at  her  apartment 
and  they  arranged  a  programme  for  the 
afternoon  and  evening.  This  was  a  par- 
ticularly happy  period  in  their  history.  She 
lunched  with  him  once  at  Young's,  where  the 
rock  of  old  conservatism  refuses  to  be  dis- 
lodged by  the  insistent  tide  of  modern  in- 
novation. One  afternoon  they  drove  through 
Boston's  lovely  and  historic  suburbs,  and 
they  spent  an  evening  at  the  theatre.  But 
the  happiest  hours  were  those  they  passed 
quietly  alone  in  the  evening. 

There  was  so  much  to  be  said,  and  the 
apartment  savored  so  much  of  a  home.  They 
talked  books:  Clarke  had  not  neglected  to 
make  the  rooms  more  homelike  with  the 
cheery  presence  of  some  of  the  most  cher- 
ished volumes  of  his  own  library. 

Among   these   were   some   of   Kipling's 
books,  with  the  author's  autograph;  Clarke 
had  met  him  at  a  banquet  where  the  English- 
73 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

man,  bored  to  death,  had  gone  off  into  a 
corner  with  him,  the  one  man  present  who 
could  talk  of  guns  and  game,  tell  a  good 
story  of  his  own,  and  listen,  with  apprecia- 
tion properly  placed,  to  another  fellow's. 
Clarke  read  to  Mrs.  Willoughby  the  "  Re- 
cessional." 

"  There,"  said  he,  after  a  moment's  silence 
when  the  last  full  tones  of  his  sympathetic 
rendering  had  ceased  to  vibrate,  "  there  is  a 
poem  with  more  of  beauty  than  a  whole 
volume  of  modern  lackadaisical  lyrics  — 
more  strength  than  a  hundred  '  free  verse ' 
smiths  can  hammer  out  on  a  hundred  iron 
anvils — more  real  man's  religion  than  there 
is  in  a  four  hundred  page  hymn  book." 

"  What  a  contrast,"  said  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
"to  'The  Battle  Hymn  of  the  Republic/ 
Why  do  we  Americans  insist  on  setting  our 
emotions  to  lilting  measures?" 

"  We  are  growing  in  grace,"  said  Clarke. 
"  I  think  it  is  a  perception  of  the  defect,  and 
an  honest  desire  to  do  better,  that  has  led 
our  later  verse  writers  away  from  the  old, 
jingly  forms.  In  crude  reaction,  they  swing 
too  far,  and  accept  grotesqueries  as  evidence 
of  strength,  uncharted  wanderings  in  chaos 
as  proof  of  superiority  to  conventional  rules. 
74 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

It  is  the  excess  of  revolution.  There  will  be 
a  counter-revolution.  The  radicals  will  pass, 
unmourned.  With  moderated  reaction,  the 
pendulum  will  at  last  come  to  a  halt  at  the 
mid-dial  mark,  and  we  shall  have  advanced 
by  so  much.  We  shall  retain  the  beauties  of 
form,  the  difficult  simplicity  of  that  perfect 
art  which  improves  upon  nature  by  con- 
centrating upon  nature's  best.  We  shall 
be  masters,  not  slaves,  of  rhyme  and  rhythm. 
We  shall  perceive  that  we  have  been  rebel- 
ling against  form,  when  our  actual  error 
was  a  neglect  of  substance;  and  we  shall 
produce  a  literature  as  great  and  noble  in 
its  simple  strength  and  dignity,  adorned 
with  the  graces  of  chastening  art,  as  this 
mighty  nation  must  surely  be  destined  to 
place  before  the  world." 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  we  may  produce  a 
Shakespeare  —  but  it  will  be  long  before  we 
have  a  Shaw." 

'Yes;  really  clever  cynicism,  I  think, 
comes  only  with  the  passing  of  the  peak  of 
a  nation's  years." 

Then  the  talk  drifted  into  other  channels. 

They  compared  notes  on  their  travels.    Both 

had  seen  the  Passion  Play  at  Oberammergau 

in  the  same  month  —  perhaps  they  had  been 

75 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

present  at  the  same  performance!  Both 
had  watched  for  sunrise  on  the  Rigi.  They 
had  attended  the  Paris  Exposition,  and  had 
sat  under  the  spell  of  the  wonderful  acting 
of  Coquelin  in  "  Cyrano." 

"  I  wonder,"  Mrs.  Willoughby  once  said, 
"  if  we  have  never  met  in  the  course  of  these 
comings  and  goings.  Do  you  suppose  we 
can  have  been,  sometime,  somewhere,  sitting 
side  by  side  in  an  audience,  or  walking,  al- 
most together,  through  a  street  in  London, 
or  Paris,  or  Vienna? " 

"  Like  ships  that  pass  in  the  night?  Who 
knows  ? ' '  And  then : 

"  No,"  he  said,  emphatically,  "  I  do  not 
believe  it.  We  live  in  a  small  world,  and  it 
is  no  miracle  if  two  travellers  through  it 
cross  each  other's  path  a  dozen  times.  But 
for  us,  I  believe  it  impossible.  My  belief 
in  our  kinship,  mental  and  spiritual,  is 
such — so  clearly  defined  and  substantially 
formed — that  I  cannot  think  it  possible  for 
us  to  have  been  near  one  another,  without 
knowing  it.  When  I  saw  you  at  the  dinner, 
so  few  weeks  ago!  — I  knew  at  once  that 
you  were  you,  the  rest  of  me!  And  if  I  had 
seen  you  three  years,  five  years,  ten  years 
sooner,  do  you  not  think  the  same  knowledge 
76 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY] 

would  have  dawned  upon  me,  just  as  spon- 
taneously? No,  my  dear — we  never  were 
within  close  contact  of  each  other.  And  that 
is  stranger  than  if  we  had  met;  so  surely, 
so  irrevocably,  were  we  meant  for  one 
another." 

Whether  she  believed  that  or  not,  she  cer- 
tainly enjoyed  hearing  him  say  it.  Possibly 
with  serious  intent  —  and,  possibly,  intend- 
ing to  tease  him  a  little,  she  said : 

"You  know,  I  lived  in  Boston  two  seasons. 
That  was  some  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  girl, 
and  you  a  very  young  man.  Do  you  not 
think  you  may  have  passed  me  in  the  street 
—  a  tall,  slender  girl,  carrying  a  violin? 
Do  you  really  think  you  would  have  fallen 
in  love  with  me  so  —  so  impetuously,  then? 
You  may  have  been  the  same  man  you  are 
now,  but  I  —  really,  I  was  a  very  different 
person  in  those  days ! " 

Clarke  tried  to  see  this  woman  of  thirty- 
five,  in  the  full  maturity  of  her  beauty,  as 
she  must  have  looked  at  seventeen.  He 
failed ;  no  image  would  form  upon  the  screen 
of  his  imagination.  There  is  no  place  in  my 
heart,  he  told  himself,  for  any  other. 

He  loved  her  —  heart,  soul,  mind  and 
body- — as  the  whole  beautiful  harmony  of 
77 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

her  being  had  been  formed  and  matured  by 
the  years.  He  was  positive  that  they  had 
met  as  it  had  been  ordained  from  the  be- 
ginning of  time  that  they  should  meet,  in 
time's  fulness. 


78 


CHAPTER  YE! 

SEVENTY-TWO  hours:  how  swiftly 
they  pass,  when  Love  is  watching  the 
clock!  The  third  day  came  and  went,  and 
in  the  evening  of  it  Mrs.  Willoughby  started 
on  her  journey.  Clarke  saw  her  comfort- 
ably established  in  the  train,  received  her 
final  earnest  assurance  that  he  should  hear 
from  her  as  soon  as  she  had  consulted  her 
father,  and  then  went  back  to  his  rooms  — 
to  wait. 

His  patience  was  not  put  to  too  long  a 
test,  for  there  came,  even  sooner  than  he 
could  have  expected,  a  letter  in  which  she 
said: 

"  MY  DEAR  LOVE  : 

"My  journey  home  was  without  inci- 
dent. The  time  passed  swiftly,  for  the 
hours  were  filled  with  such  delightful  mem- 
ories of  the  past  three  days  in  Boston.  Your 
tenderness  and  your  love  have  won  me.  I 
know  that  you  will  always  understand  me 
perfectly;  I  shall  never  have  to  explain  to 
you  —  and  I  have  been  at  times  so  cruelly 
79 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

misunderstood!  I  told  my  father,  and  he 
will  be  glad,  indeed  he  is  anxious,  to  see 
you.  Come  at  once,  and  let  us  know  when 
you  will  arrive. 

"  With  my  heart's  best  love, 

"LouiSE." 

Clarke  read,  and  exultantly  re-read,  this 
letter.  He  telephoned  for  information,  and 
found  that  he  could  catch  a  train  that  would 
get  him  to  Topeka  the  third  night  out,  at 
eight  o'clock.  Packing  hastily,  he  hurried 
to  the  station,  and  had  just  time  to  send  a 
telegram  announcing  the  probable  time  of 
his  arrival.  He  added  two  happy  words: 
"Adastra." 

On  the  train,  he  looked  over  his  fellow 
passengers,  and  wondered  upon  what  er- 
rands they  were  bound.  They  all  seemed 
so  composed — so  matter-of-fact;  their  pur- 
pose must  be  hopelessly  prosaic  and  com- 
monplace, compared  with  his;  who  at  jour- 
ney's end  would  learn  whether  he  was,  or 
was  not,  to  marry  the  most  desirable  woman 
in  the  world. 

His  own  worthiness  for  so  great  a  boon, 
his  own  fitness  for  such  a  responsibility 
would,  of  course,  be  searchingly  investi- 
80 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

gated.  It  was  pleasant  to  be  so  confident 
of  the  outcome.  He  need  not  shun  the  issue, 
or  avoid  the  test ;  he  could  afford  to  invite  it, 
to  challenge  it. 

The  seventeenth  century  was  young  when 
the  first  Clarke  landed  in  Boston.  He  had 
left  England,  with  a  price  on  his  head  be- 
cause he  had  ventured  to  incur  the  very 
human  displeasure  of  a  very  royal  Highness. 
There  was  Huguenot  blood  on  his  mother's 
side,  and  the  strain  had  blended  in  the  years 
with  the  Puritan. 

His  great  grandfather  had  served  under 
Lafayette,  and  his  father  under  Sherman. 
He  himself  had  won  an  honorable  position 
at  the  bar.  He  had  gained  a  considerable 
local  reputation  as  a  speaker.  His  con- 
science was  clear,  his  honor  unstained:  no, 
he  need  not  dread  the  inquest! 

It  is  doubtful  whether  Clarke  had  ever 
before  made  such  an  inventory  of  his  own 
qualifications.  Why  should  he?  His  stand- 
ing in  respect  of  all  the  terms  of  eligibility 
for  son-in-lawship  had  always  been  one  of 
the  things  that  are  taken  for  granted. 

His  nature  was  deeply  religious.  He  stood 
solidly  for  the  Church  as  an  institution;  be- 
lieving that  Protestant  New  England  was 

81 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

fast  becoming  pagan,  since  not  one  half  of 
the  descendants  of  the  Puritans  and  Pil- 
grims ever  set  foot  inside  of  a  church  door, 
in  one  of  his  public  addresses  he  had  as- 
serted with  emphasis  that  its  decline  and  fall 
would  be  attended,  inevitably,  by  the  de- 
cline and  fall  of  the  Republic.  In  some 
measure  he  sought  to  cultivate  his  spiritual 
being.  He  believed  it  better  for  a  man  to 
build  his  life  upon  a  religion,  however 
archaic  or  irrational,  than  to  lack  the  foun- 
dation of  faith-formula.  One  of  his  favorite 
quotations  was: 

"First  God  made  man,  then  straightway 

man  made  God. 

What  wonder  if  the  tang  of  that  same  sod 
From  whence  we  issued  with  a  breath 

should  cling 

To  all  we  fashion?    We  can  only  plod, 
Led  by  a  starveling  candle,  and  we  sing 
Of  what  we  can  remember  of  the  road." 

No  word  that  Chester  Clarke  uttered 
could  be  rightly  understood,  no  act  which 
he  performed  could  be  correctly  judged, 
without  reference  to  the  Puritan  part  of  his 
antecedents.  The  New  England  conscience 
of  his  paternal  ancestors  had  been  graced 
82 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

but  not  weakened  by  the  inheritance  of  an- 
other character  from  his  mother's  Gallic 
forebears.  The  Huguenot  influence  shone 
out  in  his  mental  processes ;  the  Puritan  fac- 
tor was  apparent  in  his  deep,  instinctive 
sense  of  moral  responsibility  —  that  it  was 
instinctive  is  the  important  fact.  Rochelle 
might  make  him,  in  an  hour  of  suffering, 
more  acutely  conscious  of  every  pang;  Bos- 
ton would  compel  him  to  suffer  in  silence, 
hide  his  hurt,  and  go  his  way  without  any 
manifestation  of  memory  for  yesterday's 
heavy  strokes  of  misfortune.  The  democ- 
racy of  the  Puritan  recognized  a  degree  of 
special  dependence  upon  its  men  of  brains, 
character,  learning  and  position;  and  it  re- 
quired of  them  a  specially  stoic  subordina- 
tion of  personal  interests  to  the  duty  of  man 
as  a  member  of  the  community.  Where  the 
Huguenot  might  assume  the  right  to  end  a 
life  blasted  by  disappointment,  the  Puritan 
would  not  consider  the  life  his  to  take — but 
only  his  to  live  out  to  the  appointed  end. 
Probably  the  two  men  would  be  equal  in 
courage;  the  difference  would  be  a  matter 
of  conscience. 

And  so,  as  one  who  had  lived  up  to  the 
best  New  England  traditions,  Clarke  sped 

83 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

across  the  country,  with  a  glad  heart  and 
high  hopes,  to  conquer  the  waiting  West. 

When  at  last  the  train  crossed  the  Mis- 
souri River  and  entered  the  State  of  Kan- 
sas, Clarke  recalled  the  lines  of  Whittier, 
sung  by  the  stout-hearted  pioneers  as  they 
migrated  in  the  "  Fifties  "  to  hold  the  Terri- 
tory and  its  resources  for  the  common  weal : 

"  We  go  to  rear  a  wall  of  men 
On  Freedom's  Southern  line, 
And  plant  beside  the  cotton-tree 
The  rugged  Northern  pine! 

"  Uprearing  like  the  Ark  of  old 
The  Bible  in  our  van, 
We  go  to  test  the  truth  of  God 
Against  the  fraud  of  man." 

And  this  was  the  country  where  the  woman 
he  was  hastening  to  meet  had  spent  the 
greater  part  of  her  life:  a  country  strange, 
but  now  dear,  to  him.  With  keen  pleasure  he 
scrutinized  the  landscape.  Here  and  there 
a  patch  of  sandy  desert,  not  yet  conquered ; 
then  endless  expanse  of  broad  prairie  land, 
rich  in  the  beauty  of  purple  iris  and  ver- 
bena; green  oceans  of  corn  and  grain  billow- 
ing away  to  the  far  horizon;  plantations  of 
84 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

fruit  trees  and  vines,  full  of  luscious  prom- 
ise. A  land  of  plenty,  a  smiling  land;  and 
everywhere,  the  visible  evidence  of  the  genius 
and  thrift  of  a  virile  and  progressive  race. 

The  train  pulled  into  Topeka  three  hours 
behind  time.  It  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock 
when  Clarke  descended  from  his  car.  There 
would  be  no  one  but  a  servant  to  meet  him, 
he  supposed,  at  this  late  hour. 

But  he  was  wrong,  for  Mrs.  Willoughby 
and  Ernest  were  waiting  on  the  platform. 
He  hurried  to  meet  them,  and  would  have 
offered  his  most  demonstrative  greeting;  but 
Mrs.  Willoughby  forestalled  him. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  here  is  our  travel- 
ler! We  are  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Clarke. 
We  were  about  to  give  you  up,  when  we 
learned  that  the  train  would  surely  arrive 
within  another  twenty  minutes.  And  we 
Topekans  have  never  been  accused  of  not 
being  hospitable  to  the  stranger  that  is 
within  our  gates." 

She  spoke  with  no  more  and  no  less 
warmth  than  one  puts  into  the  words  of 
welcome  to  the  ordinary  guest;  and  Clarke 
had  regarded  himself  as  so  very  special  a 
visitor!  When  she  turned  to  the  boy  and 
said:  "Ernest,  you  remember  Mr.  Clarke, 
85 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

of  course?"  Clarke  felt  a  pang  of  some- 
thing resembling  resentment ;  but  it  immedi- 
ately occurred  to  him  that  this  mingling  of 
cordiality  with  formality  was  caused  by  the 
presence  of  the  boy,  who  was  still  evidently 
unaware  of  their  relations  and  whose  recon- 
ciliation to  the  installation  of  a  stepfather 
was  still  unachieved.  Taking  the  cue,  he 
replied  in  the  conventional  manner  of  a 
traveller  well  pleased  at  reaching  his  des- 
tination. 

The  other  members  of  the  family  had  re- 
tired, and  Mrs.  Willoughby  and  Ernest  sat 
with  him  while  he  ate  the  luncheon  provided 
for  his  refreshment.  There  was  a  little 
colorless  talk  about  his  journey  and  about 
Topeka;  Clarke  wondered  that  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby did  not  find  a  way  to  get  rid  of  the 
boy.  Then,  despairing  of  any  opportunity 
to  say  the  things  he  could  not  wait  to  say, 
he  announced  his  readiness  to  retire.  Ernest 
showed  him  to  his  room. 

Clarke  was  puzzled  and  hurt.  As  he  un- 
dressed, he  wondered:  Could  she  possibly 
fail  to  realize  how  his  suppressed  feelings 
were  straining  for  expression?  Could  she 
not  understand  his  longing  to  clasp  her  in 
his  arms  ?  She  must,  surely,  be  aware  of  his 
86 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

anxiety  to  hear  how  her  father  stood;  but 
she  had  given  no  sign  of  concern. 

With  a  keen  sense  of  disappointment  he 
retired.  Sleep  came  to  him  that  night  halt- 
ingly. His  mind  grappled  with  a  problem 
it  could  not  solve;  could  hardly  even  state. 
Fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  passed;  a  clock 
outside  in  the  hall  struck  midnight.  The 
house  was  dark  and  still;  drowsiness  came 
over  him. 

Then,  as  if  in  a  dream,  he  was  aware  of 
a  dim  light  in  the  room.  His  door  had  noise- 
lessly opened  and  shut.  A  figure  all  in 
white,  and  carrying  a  shaded  night  lamp, 
stood  a  moment  as  if  listening,  then  moved 
softly  across  the  room  to  his  bedside. 

Kneeling  there,  she  said,  in  a  whisper: 

"  I  could  not  let  the  night  come  between 
us  until  I  had  spoken  to  you,  dear  —  just 
a  word,  out  of  my  heart." 

"  My  love,  my  own  love! "  was  all  he  said. 
But  as  he  drew  her  into  his  arms,  and  she 
rested  there,  happy  and  content,  they  had  no 
need  of  words. 

At  length,  whispering  "Now  you  must 
let  me  go,"  she  gave  him  one  last  kiss  —  the 
door  opened  and  shut,  swiftly  and  silently, 
and  she  was  gone. 

87 


CHAPTER  IX 

next  morning,  Clarke  awoke  re- 
A  freshed  and  eager  to  launch  upon  the 
new  phase  of  his  Great  Adventure.  He 
went  out  for  an  early  stroll,  had  walked  back 
to  the  house,  and  was  mounting  the  front 
steps  when  a  tall,  elderly  gentleman,  some- 
what portly  of  figure,  came  out. 

Extending  his  hand,  with  an  air  of  com- 
bined cordiality  and  deference,  he  said :  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Clarke.  Sorry  not 
to  have  felt  able  to  sit  up  and  receive  you 
last  night.  Doubtlessly,  my  daughter  ex- 
plained. It 's  Mr.  Malsby.  I  am  glad,  and 
proud,  to  welcome  you  here." 

As  their  hands  clasped  in  hearty  greeting, 
each  man  looked  squarely  into  the  eyes  of 
the  other. 

"  Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Clarke,"  Malsby  said. 
"  The  ladies  have  not  come  down  yet." 

Clarke  liked  the  looks  of  this  man,  the 

father  of  the  woman  he  loved.     The  deep 

wrinkles  in  his  forehead,  the  bulge  of  the 

heavy  shoulders,  the  powerful  structure  of 

88 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

his  hands,  all  bespoke  the  man  of  many 
battles.  The  rugged  frame  showed,  slightly 
but  plainly,  signs  of  the  wear  and  tear  of 
hard  work.  Strength  and  character  were 
the  suggestion  given  by  his  appearance. 

'  You  are  from  Boston,  Mr.  Clarke,"  he 
said,  to  establish  a  point  of  departure  for 
their  conversation.  "  Boston  is  a  grand  old 
city!  I  have  been  there  several  times,  and 
the  more  I  see  of  it  the  better  I  like  it  — 
even  to  the  famous  baked  beans." 

He  chuckled. 

'Yes,  Boston  is  a  good  town,"  said 
Clarke.  "It  has  its  peculiarities,  however. 
They  say,  you  know,  that  any  casual  gather- 
ing of  three  or  four  Bostonians  resembles  a 
session  of  the  Concord  School  of  Philosophy, 
and  we  are  supposed  to  be  constantly  seek- 
ing to  hear  of  some  new  thing.  All  the 
'isms,'  according  to  common  report,  origi- 
nate in  the  Hub." 

"  That  does  seem  to  be  the  fact,"  Mr. 
Malsby  remarked,  after  half  a  moment's 
reflection.  Then,  pausing  the  other  half  of 
the  moment,  he  said:  . 

"But  I  don't  just  see  how  you  make  it 
line  up  with  your  conservatism.  I  always 
think  of  Boston  as  our  most  conservative 
89 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

city.  For  my  part,  I  like  the  way  you  stick 
to  your  old  customs.  No  outlander  seems 
ever  to  break  through,  or  climb  over,  your 
Chinese  Wall." 

"Boston  has  changed,  in  some  respects, 
with  the  changing  times,"  replied  Clarke. 
"New  people  come,  and  bring  new  ways. 
But  the  inner  citadel  still  resists  every 
assault." 

"  As  long  as  there  is  any  Boston  at  all," 
said  Mr.  Malsby,  "old  Boston  will  be  the 
Boston  the  rest  of  the  country  knows  and 
respects."  He  spoke  with  conviction. 

"  I  suppose  our  conservatism  is  the  natural 
continuation  of  our  English  inheritance," 
said  Clarke.  "  Our  institutions,  you  see, 
were  well  established  'in  good  old  Colony 
times,  when  we  lived  under  the  King.' ' 

"  Well,"  said  the  older  man,  "  I  '11  tell  you 
this:  as  a  Westerner — and  there's  a  good 
many  more  like  me!  —  I  'd  bank,  every  time, 
on  a  real  Bostonian.  I  Ve  met  a  lot  of  'em, 
in  business,  first  and  last!  And  why  would 
I  bank  on  him?  I  '11  tell  you,  sir:  his  credit 
is  solid,  because  his  conservatism  keeps  him 
out  of  trouble.  He  works  hard,  and  he's 
thrifty.  He  never  gets  drunk,  and  he  never 
visits  a  den  of  iniquity.  I  don't  recall  ever 
90 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

hearing  of  a  Boston  wife-beater!  He's  in 
on  every  work  of  charity  and  benevolence; 
seems  trained  that  way  from  the  cradle,  and 
the  best  thing  about  you  fellows  is  the  way 
you  face  the  '  chores '  of  life.  I  've  always 
found  a  Boston  man  a  good  friend,  once  I  Ve 
got  to  know  him." 

The  reservation  was  made  with  just  a 
show  of  whimsicality. 

'You  are  truly  generous  with  your 
praise,"  said  Clarke,  "and  I  trust  we  de- 
serve the  high  compliment.  I  have  always 
supposed  the  rest  of  the  country  regarded 
us  as  rather  narrow  and  self-satisfied.  I 
once  heard  a  countryman  say  of  the  Boston 
man  that  three  of  him  could  sit  on  a  buggy 
seat.  We  are  accused  of  being  intellectuals ; 
of  lacking  the  spirit  of  adventure,  and  so 
missing  much  of  the  variety  and  spice  of 
life." 

The  quoted  criticism  seemed  to  rouse  the 
old  man's  fighting  spirit.  He  took  up  arms 
in  defence  of  the  maligned  city. 

"  I  'm  telling  you  what  I  think,"  he  said; 
"  and  I  don't  get  my  ideas  from  anyone  else! 
Your  monuments  reflect  your  character. 
I  always  stand  with  my  hat  off  when  I 
read  the  inscription  on  your  Public  Library, 
91 


THE  UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

'  The  Commonwealth  requires  the  education 
of  her  citizens  as  the  safeguard  to  order  and 
liberty,'  or  that  other  one  on  your  Soldiers' 
Monument: 

" c  To  the  men  of  Boston 
Who  died  for  their  Country 

On  land  and  sea 
In  the  war  that  made  the  Union  whole 

Destroyed  slavery 
And  preserved  the  Constitution.' 

"You  see  I  have  committed  these  words 
to  memory.  Then  there's  the  Shaw  Me- 
morial, as  it's  called,  on  the  Common  op- 
posite the  State  House,  about  dying  for 
noble  ends. 

"  We  have  few  monuments  out  here ;  we 
have  none  with  such  noble  and  nobly  worded 
sentiments  on  them.  If  this  country  ever 
goes  to  war  again,  in  some  great  and  right- 
eous cause,  the  young  men  of  New  England 
ought  to  be  the  first  to  rise  —  after  seeing 
words  like  those  every  day  of  their  lives! " 

After  a  moment  of  silence,  Clarke  asked : 

"Have  you  had  extensive  business  con- 
nections in  Boston?" 

'  Well,  yes  —  I  Ve  done  a  goodish  amount 
of  trading  in  Boston." 
92 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

A  softer  look  took  possession  of  his  strong 
old  face,  as  he  added: 

"And  I  placed  my  daughter  in  school 
there.  I  was  bound  that  she  should  have 
the  best  musical  education  that  America 
could  give  her,  so  I  took  her  to  Boston  and 
placed  her  at  the  New  England  Conserva- 
tory of  Music." 

In  the  parental  pride  which  he  made  no 
attempt  to  conceal,  Clarke  saw  the  opening 
for  which  he  had  been  waiting. 

"Now,  Mr.  Malsby,"  he  said,  "I  came 
here  to  speak  with  you  about  your  daughter 
—  I  am  in  love  with  her,  deeply  in  love, 
and  I  am  here  to  ask  your  consent  to  our 
marriage." 

The  older  man  evidently  was  pleased  by 
the  younger  man's  straightforward  presenta- 
tion of  his  suit.  He  answered  in  the  same 
spirit  and  manner: 

"My  daughter  has  spoken  to  me.  It 
would  be  hard  for  me  to  refuse  her  any- 
thing—  so  I'm  pretty  strongly  on  your 
side  at  the  start-out.  Besides,  I  should  like 
to  see  her  happily  married  before  my  own 
time  comes  —  and  it's  getting  near  enough 
now  to  have  to  be  figured  on." 

He  paused,  reflectively. 
93 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"You  certainly  do  not  look  like  an  in- 
valid," was  Clarke's  comment. 

"  Well,  anyway,  there 's  the  fact  that  my 
girl  is  the  kind  that's  better  off  married 
than  single.  I  am  very  much  honored  by 
your  interest  in  her,  and  I  '11  do  all  I  can 
to  help  you.  And  you  may  need  some  help. 
There  are  certain  obstacles.  Her  affairs 
and  those  of  the  children  are  in  a  pretty 
uncertain  condition  right  now,  and — " 

He  stopped  short. 

"  The  ladies  are  coming,"  he  said.  "  We  '11 
talk  it  over,  later  in  the  day." 

They  rose  to  greet  Mrs.  Willoughby  and 
Mrs.  Malsby,  who  appeared  at  the  door. 


94 


CHAPTER  X 

MRS.  Malsby  was  a  lady  of  medium 
height,  quite  a  little  shorter  than  her 
daughter.  Her  mien  was,  if  not  severe,  at 
least  uncompromising,  and  she  was  dressed 
in  the  stiffest  of  styles.  A  stage  manager 
engineering  a  play  with  Mrs.  Willoughby 
in  the  leading  part  would  have  found  in 
Mrs.  Malsby  the  perfect  foil  for  her  daugh- 
ter's loveliness. 

As  the  party  entered  the  breakfast  room 
Alice  and  Ernest  came  in,  rosy  from  an 
early  walk.  Ernest  said: 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  night,  Mr.  Clarke? 
Everybody  says  our  air  out  here  makes  them 
sleep  better  than  at  home." 

But  Alice  came  up  to  him  without  a  hint 
of  shyness  and  with  the  crystal  clear  honesty 
of  childhood  put  her  warm,  strong  young 
arms  around  him  and  gave  him  a  hearty  kiss. 

Mrs.  Malsby  looked  at  her  daughter. 
Mrs.  Willoughby  was  smiling. 

"That  child  will  never  learn  manners," 
the  grandmother  said.     "I   do  wish  you 
95 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

would  teach  her  not  to  be  so  forward, 
Louise!" 

Clarke  recalled  Mrs.  Willoughby's  whis- 
pered adjuration,  "Do  be  nice  to  mother!" 
He  said: 

"  That  was  the  very  nicest  thing  that  ever 
happened  to  me,  Mrs.  Malsby.  You  are  to 
be  congratulated  on  having  so  dear  a  little 
lady  for  a  granddaughter." 

Mrs.  Malsby  replied  quite  unenthusiasti- 
cally, and  thereafter  she  spoke  seldom  and 
briefly.  Clarke  could  bring  forward  no 
topic  to  which  she  would  respond.  He  could 
not  think  her  hostile  toward  himself,  but  she 
certainly  preserved  an  unwavering  neutral- 
ity. Her  natural  reserve  of  manner,  he  felt 
sure,  was  reenforced  by  a  determination  to 
be  noncommittal.  The  situation  appealed 
to  his  sense  of  humor:  it  suggested  a  very 
prim  lady  walking  a  tightrope. 

The  visitor  permitted  himself,  without 
compunction,  to  analyze  this  family  whose 
hospitality  he  was  enjoying.  It  was  per- 
fectly fair,  for  he  himself  had  invited  them 
to  analyze  him!  Let  it,  then,  be  give  and 
take !  He  saw  that  the  father  and  daughter 
stood  on  one  side  of  a  sharply  drawn  line, 
the  mother  on  the  other.  While  taking  his 
96 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

part  in  the  small  talk  of  the  breakfast  table, 
he  was  Teconstructing  in  his  mind  the  his- 
tory of  this  family  division.  He  could  im- 
agine a  hundred  ways  in  which,  while 
conscientiously  endeavoring  to  mould  her 
daughter  to  her  own  views,  Mrs.  Malsby 
had  driven  the  child  away  from  her  cold 
self  and  into  the  shelter  of  her  father's  never- 
failing  sympathy.  He  thought  it  would  be 
incorrect  and  unjust  to  suppose  that  Mrs. 
Malsby  loved  her  daughter  less  than  Mr. 
Malsby  did;  but  she  loved  her  in  a  con- 
scientious, measured  way,  while  his  affections 
found  free  expression  in  spontaneous  re- 
sponse to  every  appeal,  verbal  or  tacit. 

And,  as  was  to  be  expected,  the  schism 
extended  to  the  new  generation  of  Wil- 
loughbys.  Alice  was  more  like  her  mother 
and  her  grandfather;  while  Ernest  drew 
naturally  to  Mrs.  Malsby.  It  was  odd  to 
see  so  strikingly  firm  an  attachment  between 
the  severe  grandmother  and  the  boy.  In 
their  reserved,  undemonstrative  way  they 
seemed  to  depend  on  each  other  for  support 
against  the  more  impulse-ruled  part  of  the 
household  group. 

Throughout  the  meal  the  talk  ran  pleas- 
antly in  the  rather  desultory  channels  of 
97 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

breakfast-table  conversation;  it  was  only 
the  merest  undercurrent,  that  would  prob- 
ably have  been  imperceptible  to  a  visitor 
less  intimately  concerned  with  the  significant 
insignificances  of  the  occasion,  that  enabled 
Clarke  to  form  these  conclusions  so  posi- 
tively. The  meal  finished,  the  children  ran 
off  to  feed  their  pets ;  Mrs.  Malsby  excused 
herself  and  Mrs.  Wnloughby  said,  "I  will 
go  with  you,  mother,  so  that  father  and  Mr. 
Clarke  can  enjoy  their  morning  smoke  with- 
out interruption." 

The  two  men  settled  themselves  comfort- 
ably in  the  snug  little  sanctum  at  a  corner 
of  the  house.  A  certain  tensity  of  mind 
was  felt  by  each  in  himself,  and  was  per- 
ceived by  each  in  the  other.  It  was  not  the 
strain  of  coming  battle,  for  they  had  already 
discovered  a  community  of  favorable  dis- 
position; but  now  they  were  to  deal  in  de- 
tail with  a  decision  momentous  for  each. 
Clarke  felt  that  he  stood  on  the  near  bank 
of  his  Rubicon,  and  the  hour  of  crossing 
was  at  hand.  Mr.  Malsby  opened  the 
conference. 

"This  is  business,  Mr.  Clarke,"  he  said, 
"  and  there  ''s  just  one  way  to  talk  business." 

"Straight,"  said  Clarke. 
98 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"Right!  Well,  then:  I  have  a  question 
to  ask  you  before  we  get  down  to  details. 
But  it 's  a  question  that  needs  an  explanation. 

"My  wife  is  a  woman  of  very  decided 
views  and  opinions.  One  of  them  —  in  fact, 
it 's  really  a  hobby  of  hers  —  is  that  people 
of  different  religious  beliefs  cannot  be  happy 
in  marriage,  and  ought  not  to  marry." 

"A  pretty  strong  combination  of  objec- 
tions, Mr.  Malsby!  But  I  think  we  can 
overcome  it.  For  my  part  —  " 

"  No ;  wait  a  minute.  We  must  not  switch 
off.  Let  me  show  you  how  this  works,  from 
Mrs.  Malsby 's  side.  Then  we  can  take  it 
up  from  ours." 

"  The  opposing  forces  are  drawn  up  in 
battle  order,"  Clarke  thought.  He  said 
nothing,  however;  only  nodded  to  show  that 
he  was  ready. 

"  Now,"  said  Malsby,  "  while  my  wife  and 
daughter  are  not  in  such  close  sympathy  as 
I  would  wish,  it  is  merely  the  natural  effect 
of  the  marked  differences  in  their  natures. 
Mrs.  Malsby  is  a  faithful  mother,  you  may 
be  sure,  and  she  has  Louise's  welfare  con- 
stantly at  heart." 

He  seemed  to  forget  that  he  was  talking 
to  a  comparative  stranger,  and  spoke  more 
99 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

like  a  man  musing  for  his  own  satisfaction 
than  one  trying  to  reveal  a  situation  without 
reporting  it  in  embarrassing  detail. 

"  Louise  is  more  like  myself.  She  likes  to 
do  things.  She  likes  to  have  people  like 
what  she  does,  and  say  so.  She  does  what 
she  wants  to  do,  and  generally  thinks  it's 
just  about  the  right  thing  to  do. 

"  Her  mother  does  nothing  without  think- 
ing about  it.  She  is  as  severe  with  herself 
as  she  is  with  others.  She  argues  everything 
out  in  her  mind ;  and  when  she  once  reaches 
a  conclusion,  heaven  nor  hell  can't  shake  it. 

"Now,  you  see,"  bringing  himself  de- 
finitely back  to  the  situation  in  hand,  "  you 
see  how  this  applies  to  you  and  Louise. 
Mrs.  Malsby  can't  realize  that  Louise  is  old 
enough  to  have  a  mind  of  her  own,  and  can't 
be  ordered  about  like  a  child.  I  get  a  lot 
more  out  of  her,  and  influence  her  a  lot  more, 
by  pulling  with  her  and  not  against  her. 
Sometimes  I  play  the  deep  game,  and  go 
through  the  motions  of  pulling  with  her, 
when  in  fact  I'm  working  the  other  way. 
But  her  mother  often  antagonizes  her  un- 
necessarily, and  makes  a  hard  job  of  it  for 
herself  where  it  ought  to  have  been  easy. 

"  So  here 's  the  situation,  in  a  nutshell ; 
100 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Mrs,  Malsby  is  conscientious,  but  really  de- 
voted to  Louise's  welfare;  Louise  is  dutiful 
in  intent,  pretty  much  devoted  to  her  own 
welfare,  and  almost  always  at  odds  with  her 
mother's  idea  of  what  her  welfare  requires." 

"And  I  should  imagine,"  said  Clarke, 
"  that  each,  in  her  own  way,  is  blessed  with 
considerable  will  power." 

"Right!"  said  Malsby;  "and,  by  the 
Lord,  I  'm  glad  to  see  you  understand  the 
situation  so  clearly,  without  doing  any  in- 
justice to  either  party.  It  isn't  every  man, 
Mr.  Clarke,  who  can  see  both  sides,  and 
give  each  its  fair  value. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  "now  we  come  to 
the  point.  I  'm  going  to  speak  as  plainly 
as  I  know  how! 

"Mrs.  Malsby,  as  I  said,  believes  that 
marriages  between  persons  of  different  re- 
ligions lead  to  unhappiness  at  home,  and 
possibly  to  a  settlement  in  the  divorce 
court." 

"  But  is  it  right  to  make  religion  the  test 
at  all?" 

"Never  mind  about  that!     You  and  I 

may  have  our  own  ideas  about  it,  and  I 

guess  we  'd  both  put  love  so  far  first  that 

the  other  things  wouldn't  get  a  look  in! 

101 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

But  that 's  the  man  of  it.  Mrs.  Malsby  does 
make  this  a  consideration;  one  of  the  most 
important,  too — and  that's  the  fact  we've 
got  to  face.  No  use  trying  to  dodge  facts ! " 

"  It  can't  be  done,"  said  Clarke. 

"  That 's  it !  Well — Mrs.  Malsby  and  I 
are  Presbyterians.  Louise  attended  that 
church  as  a  child,  but  she  has  since  joined 
the  Episcopalians.  She  likes  the  ceremonial ; 
it  answers  the  need  of  her  nature,  you  know. 
She  is  brighter  than  we  are.  Our  service  is 
too  gloomy  for  her." 

He  spoke  half  apologetically. 

"  A  beautiful  church  service  for  a  woman 
whose  mind  and  spirit  are  as  lovely  as  hers," 
said  Clarke  with  quiet  finality. 

Mr.  Malsby  smiled  his  appreciation. 

"Well — I  see  I  needn't  do  any  more 
explaining!  Mrs.  Malsby  made  me  promise 
to  ask  you  about  your  religious  beliefs  be- 
fore consenting  to  have  you  marry  our 
daughter.  You  are  a  Unitarian,  are  you 
not?  We  don't  know  much  about  that  re- 
ligion. We're  a  little  afraid  of  it,  Mr. 
Clarke  —  as  people  are  apt  to  be  of  things 
they  know  nothing  about.  Now,  please 
tell  me  what  the  Unitarian  belief  is. 
Mrs.  Malsby,"  he  concluded,  with  a  half- 
102 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

whimsical  air,  "  she  thinks  it 's  denying  the 
Saviour!" 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  them. 
Mr.  Malsby  answered  it. 

"  A  gentleman  to  see  you,  sir,"  the  maid 
announced.  "  On  business.  He  says  it 's 
very  important." 

Mr.  Malsby  turned  to  Clarke. 
'  'T  was    ever    thus,"    he    said,    smiling 
through  an  obvious  vexation.     "Will  you 
excuse  me?    I  will  come  back  as  soon  as  I 
can  get  clear,  and  we  '11  have  it  out." 


103 


CHAPTER  XI 

NOT  until  past  mid-morning  were  the 
two  men  able  to  resume  their  inter- 
rupted conversation.  Clarke  was  waiting 
in  the  sanctum  when  Malsby  returned.  He 
laid  down  the  book  he  had  picked  up. 
Malsby  wore  a  broad  grin. 

"I  judge  the  business  went  your  way," 
said  Clarke. 

"  Sure  did,"  said  Malsby,  "  I  Ve  just  put 
over  a  deal  that  will  bring  me  some  glory 
as  well  as  cash — but  never  mind  that,  now. 
It  isn't  half  as  important  or  interesting  as 
what  we  were  talking  about." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  Bostonian,  "let's 
go  right  on.  You  were  asking  about  the 
Unitarian  belief.  In  the  first  place,  sir, 
they  have  no  creed." 

"What!  No  creed?  Why,  I  don't  get 
you  at  all!  How  can  they  possibly  have  a 
church  without  a  creed  ?  What 's  the  j  oke  ? " 

"No  joke,"  said  Clarke;  "cold  fact." 

He  had  made  his  statement  abruptly,  not 
without  some  innocent  enjoyment  of  the 
shock  he  knew  it  would  cause.  But  he 
104 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

hastened  to  explain ;  it  would  not  do  to  give 
time  for  a  false  impression  to  take  root  in 
the  mind  of  his  prospective  father-in-law; 
he  could  see  that  "impressions"  did  not 
form  very  quickly  there,  but  he  could  also 
see  that  an  idea  once  germinated  in  that  soil 
would  take  deep  root. 

"  No  formal  creed,"  he  explained.  "  It 
lays  emphasis  on  certain  fundamental  prin- 
ciples, such  as  belief  in  the  Fatherhood  of 
God  —  the  Brotherhood  of  Man  —  Salva- 
tion by  Character." 

"  Those  sound  good  to  me,"  said  Malsby; 
"  but  hanged  if  I  get  you  on  the  creed  idea. 
I  'd  as  soon  think  of  corn  without  kernels  as 
a  church  without  a  written  creed! " 

"This,"  said  Clarke,  "is  the  vital  differ- 
ence between  the  Unitarians'  belief  and  that 
of  the  Trinitarian  churches:  that  they  do 
not  subscribe  to  faith  in  the  Immaculate 
Conception  —  the  Trinity  —  the  idea  that 
Jesus  Christ  was  the  incarnate  Son  of  God." 

He  had  thought  it  best  to  state  these  facts 
swiftly  and  barely;  but  he  saw  that  Mr. 
Malsby  was  really  shocked. 

"  It  may  seem  cruel  to  you,  Mr.  Malsby, 
to  hew  away  these  old  terms,  and  the  ideas 
they  stand  for.  Do  not  think  they  do  it 
105 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

without  reverence,  or  without  appreciation 
of  all  that  they  have  meant  in  the  world's 
life!  But  they  believe  that  their  faith  is 
purer,  nearer  the  truth  for  which  we  all 
strive — and  not  one  whit  less  beautiful,  less 
sustaining." 

Never  had  Clarke  discussed  these  things 
when  they  had  meant  so  much  to  him,  when 
they  had  fitted  so  closely  into  the  deepest 
desires  of  his  own  heart.  He  would  not 
dodge  this  issue,  fateful  though  it  might 
easily  be;  and  the  earnestness  of  his  pur- 
pose made  him  forceful  beyond  ordinary  ex- 
perience. He  warmed  to  the  subject. 

"  Does  it,"  he  asked,  "  make  Jesus  Christ 
less  dear  to  us,  less  the  Saviour  of  mankind, 
to  regard  him  as  a  human  being,  like  our- 
selves, instead  of  a  Deity  taking  on  himself, 
temporarily,  the  mere  form  of  a  man?  A 
human  being — but  sharing  with  God,  more 
than  any  other  man  who  ever  walked  this 
earth,  the  divine  attributes  of  holiness, 
purity,  love?  To  me,  this  seems  a  very 
beautiful,  a  very  helpful  and  strengthening 
belief.  In  adopting  that  belief,  I  am  to  that 
extent,  Mr.  Malsby,  a  Unitarian." 

'  You  were  not  brought  up  in  that  church, 
then?" 

106 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  Oh,  no ;  my  parents  were  Congrega- 
tionalists.  The  creed  is  about  the  same  as 
yours,  in  the  Presbyterian  Church.  The 
difference  is  principally  —  perhaps  entirely 
— in  church  polity  and  organization." 

"Why  did  you  change?" 

Clarke  answered  seriously: 

"  Because  in  my  childhood  days  the  Con- 
gregational Church  taught  the  fear  of  God 
instead  of  the  love  of  God.  Because  I 
wearied  of  what  a  friend  of  mine  calls 
'  Churchanity.'  Because  I  wanted  no  meta- 
physical doctrine  to  stand  between  me  and 
the  teachings  of  Jesus:  love,  faith,  service." 

"  We  stand  on  the  same  rock." 

The  beautiful  simplicity  of  the  words  led 
Clarke  on. 

"  The  difficulty  that  confronts  us  today," 
he  said,  "  is  to  form  an  adequate  conception 
of  God  —  what  He  is  like.  I  was  taught 
that  He  existed  as  a  Supreme  Being.  One 
of  my  old  college  professors  was  fond  of  the 
phrase,  'self-conscious  Ego.'  They  repre- 
sented God  as  a  superhuman  personality, 
able  to  hear  and  answer  prayer." 

Another  shock  for  Mr.  Malsby! 

"Don't  you  still  think  so?"  he  asked. 

"Don't  think  me  thoughtlessly  revolu- 
107 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

tionary !  I  am  not  an  iconoclast !  My  ideas 
are  constructive.  I  do  not  throw  away  an 
item  of  the  old  faith  until  I  have  found  a 
more  satisfying  one  to  take  its  place." 

He  smiled. 

"  If  you  will  not  think  it  a  trifling  com- 
parison," he  continued,  "I  have  been,  in 
religion,  like  the  small  boy  climbing  a  tree. 
I  would  not  let  go  with  one  hand  until  I  had 
a  good  grip  with  the  other." 

"That's  sound." 

"  Well,  sir!  Since  you  are  so  sympathetic 
toward  my  ideas — though  I  am  sure  they 
must  be  somewhat  surprising  to  you  —  let 
me  answer  your  question  as  simply  and 
directly  as  I  can.  I  find  it  difficult  —  im- 
possible— to  believe  in  a  Supreme  Being 
seated  on  a  throne,  ruling  this  limitless  uni- 
verse—  and  at  the  same  time  listening  to 
and  answering  supplications,  wise  or  foolish, 
sent  up  by  the  children  of  men  from  this 
satellite  revolving  around  a  second  or  third 
rate  star.  I  have  known  persons  who  prayed 
for  good  weather  when  they  were  going  on  a 
picnic — while  a  farmer,  half  a  mile  away, 
might  be  praying  for  rain  to  save  his  crop! 

"But  that  is  a  small  matter,  concerning 
the  way  people  pray,  rather  than  the  im- 
108 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

portant  fact  of  what  prayer  is  and  how  we 
ought  to  pray. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  I  cannot  hold  with 
the  modern  idea  of  God  as  a  'benevolent 
ether,'  a  spirit  pervading  the  universe  — 
utterly  separated  from  any  possibility  of 
communication  through  prayer." 

"  Well,  then  — what  is  your  idea  of  God? " 

"Mr.  Malsby,  I  say  honestly  that  we 
simply  cannot  visualize  with  'the  mind's 
eye '  the  Supreme  Being.  Why  attempt 
the  impossible?  I  am  not  so  sure  that  it  is 
even  desirable.  If  we  are  to  worship  in 
spirit,  why  should  we  wish  to  turn  the  spirit 
into  something  we  can  weigh  and  measure, 
see  and  feel?  I  do  not  like  to  give  up,  Mr. 
Malsby;  I  would  rather  fight  it  out  than 
surrender.  But  in  this  matter  I  do  not  think 
surrender  is  involved  at  all.  I  do  not  believe 
such  knowledge  is  possible  to  us,  or  would 
be  good  for  us." 

'  You  may  be  right — you  are  much  nearer 
right  than  the  folks  who  make  God  just  a 
Big  Man!  But  that  'benevolent  ether' 
idea  —  is  that  a  Unitarian  belief?" 

"  Oh,  no  —  not  distinctively.    But  some  of 
their  preachers  have  taken  it  up.     It 's  one 
of  the  modern  ideas." 
109 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"Do  the  Unitarians  not  pray?" 

"  Oh,  yes!  They  use  prayer,  but  they  do 
not  use  it  to  ask  favors.  They  think  the 
value  of  prayer  lies  in  its  reaction  on  the  one 
who  practices  it.  In  other  words,  you  feel 
better — you  are  a  better  man  —  after  en- 
gaging in  it,  just  as  you  are  after  having 
done  any  good  act." 

Mr.  Malsby  had  been  pursuing  these  in- 
quiries not  as  a  matter  of  doctrinal  specula- 
tion, but  with  a  practical  motive  and  in- 
terest. In  trying  to  find  out  what  sort  of  a 
man  Clarke  was,  he  had  opened  up  a  new 
field.- 

"Well,"  he  said,  "that's  a  new  one  to 
me!" 

It  was  time  to  get  back  to  their  personal 
affairs.  To  bring  the  discussion  to  a  close, 
Clarke  said: 

"Our  talk  has  been  almost  entirely  nega- 
tive. To  get  results,  we  must  have  some- 
thing in  the  way  of  positive  asSiCrtion.  Let 
me  try  to  formulate  for  you — and  for  Mrs. 
Malsby — my  religious  beliefs: 

"I  believe — unshakably — in  a  Supreme 
Being. 

"I  believe  in  Jesus  as  the  founder  of  a 
religion  whose  doctrine  is  embodied  in  the 
110 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

two  parables  of  the  Prodigal  Son  and  the 
Good  Samaritan. 

"  I  believe  in  immortality. 

"I  believe  in  a  hell — not  burning  with 
fire  and  brimstone,  but  painful  with  remorse 
and  regret.  To  fit  my  ideas  of  justice,  it 
must  also  embody  not  the  irrevocable  sen- 
tence of  a  stern  and  vengeful  God,  but  an 
opportunity  for  atonement  and  deliverance. 

"I  believe  that  sin  engenders  suffering, 
not  as  a  punishment  but  as  the  natural  fruit 
of  its  error,  its  violation  of  the  universal  law. 

"  I  believe  in  spiritual,  as  well  as  physical 
evolution;  that  we  'grow  in  grace,'  as  the 
old  saying  was,  and  save  our  souls  by  de- 
velopment in  spiritual  power. 

"  I  believe  in  a  heaven  which  is  the  logical 
environment  of  the  soul  when  it  has  attained 
perfection ;  not  a  material  heaven,  of  shining 
mansions  and  golden  harps,  but  a  place 
where  love  is  clouded  by  no  shadow  of 
selfishness.  I  believe,  sir,  that  the  more  good 
we  do  in  this  world,  the  more  we  love  God 
and  love  and  serve  our  fellow  men,  the 
farther  we  shall  be  on  our  journey  toward 
that  bourne  from  whence  no  traveller  re- 
turneth. 

"And,"  he  concluded,  "I  believe  in  all 
111 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

churches  —  for  each  in  its  own  way  is  trying 
to  find  for  itself,  and  mark  for  those  who 
come  after,  the  way  to  the  true  goal  of  all 
life." 

Clarke  had  never  in  his  life  talked  like 
this.  It  had  taken  a  good  deal  of  effort. 
It  was  not  easy  for  a  man  of  his  natural 
reticence  and  training  in  repression  thus  to 
unburden  his  soul. 

He  was  fortunate  in  his  auditor. 

Mr.  Malsby's  face  had  reflected  his  feel- 
ings, as  he  passed  through  successive  stages 
of  comparative  indifference  —  sudden  awak- 
ening to  keen  concern  —  a  disquieting  doubt 
—  slow  conversion,  and  final  clear  convic- 
tion. He  sat  a  moment  quite  motionless, 
then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and,  grasping 
Clarke's  hand,  he  said: 

"  My  boy,  you  'II  do!  I  shall  have  no  fear 
about  trusting  my  daughter  to  you.  Mrs. 
Malsby  should  have  none  —  if  she  has,  I  will 
undertake  to  remove  it. 

'You  ought  to  have  been  a  minister!  It 
would  do  us  good  to  get  more  of  your  kind 
of  doctrine,  instead  of  the  pulpit  pap  they 
feed  us  on. 

"  We  Ve  got  a  lot  more  ground  to  cover, 
but  we  Ve  had  a  pretty  long  session.  Sup- 
112 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

pose    we    let    the    other    things    wait    till 
afternoon?" 

That  was  a  welcome  suggestion  to  Clarke. 
They  went  out  for  a  short  walk  through  the 
town. 


113 


CHAPTER  XH 

A~?TER  luncheon  the  conference  was 
resumed.  Dispensing  with  prelimi- 
naries, Mr.  Malsby  began: 

"  Louise  tells  me  that  she  has  given  you 
a  pretty  fair  idea  of  what  she  has  been 
through  here,  but  you  are  entitled  to  know 
something  about  her  financial  situation,  and 
I  — 

Clarke  interrupted: 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Malsby — I  do  not 
want  you  to  tell  me  about  your  daughter's 
finances.  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  my 
errand  here.  I  am  perfectly  capable  of  sup- 
porting her,  and  her  children,  in  comfort." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Clarke,  I  don't  doubt  it. 
But—'3 

"No,  wait  a  minute!  It  is  my  place  to 
prove  to  you  that  this  is  the  fact,  and  I  am 
ready  to  do  it.  I  inherited  a  modest  fortune 
from  my  father,  and  I  have  added  some- 
thing to  it.  My  practice  has  been  fairly 
remunerative.  If  your  daughter  has  any 
property,  so  much  the  better.  It  will  be  so 


much  more  in  reserve  for  her  and  the  chil- 
dren, in  the  event  of  my  death,  or  some 
unforeseeable  disaster.  But  let  me  make 
it  perfectly  clear,  Mr.  Malsby,  that  I  would 
marry  her  tomorrow,  if  she  lost  every  cent 
she  has  today ! " 

"Right,"  said  the  elder  man,  cheerfully. 
"That's  what  you  ought  to  say — I  don't 
give  you  any  special  credit  for  it;  I'd  say 
the  same  myself  if  I  was  in  your  place  and 
you  in  mine.  And  I  know  you  mean  it, 
just  the  same  as  I  would.  In  fact,  I  guess 
I  told  Mrs.  Malsby's  father  something 
pretty  much  like  it,  at  that.  Though,"  he 
added,  "  she  hadn't  as  much  as  Louise,  and 
I  hadn't  anything." 

"We're  getting  off  the  point,"  said 
Clarke,  as  the  other  seemed  to  be  losing 
himself  in  recollections  called  up  by  the 
allusion  to  his  own  courting  days. 

"Right,  again!  Well,  sir — you  don't 
quite  get  me.  These  matters  have  got  to  be 
considered.  And  in  this  case  there 's  a  very 
special  reason.  You  remember,  I  spoke  of 
Louise's  financial ' situation' — not  'affairs,' 
as  would  have  been  more  natural  to  say  ? " 

Clarke  nodded. 

"Well,  there  you  are!  It  is  a  situation, 
115 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY; 

and  it  has  a  very  special  bearing  on  your 
wish  to  marry  Louise.  It  isn't  only  the 
question  whether  you  shall  marry  her  or  not ; 
it 's  a  question  of  whether  you  are  willing  to 
enter  into  an  engagement  with  a  string  tied 
to  it." 

Clarke  apologized  for  the  haste  with 
which  he  had  spoken. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  anything  you  wish 
to  tell  me,"  he  said. 

"  I  am  sure  you  will!    And  I  tell  you,  my 
boy,  this  means  something  to  me,  too !    You 
may  be  of  the  greatest  assistance  to  me." 
'You  surprise  me,  sir,"  said  Clarke. 

"Yes,  it's  so.  I  am  carrying  something 
of  a  load.  When  Louise's  husband  died,  I 
came  on  and  took  charge  of  his  affairs. 
They  were  in  pretty  bad  shape.  He  was 
in  the  grain  elevator  business — had  ex- 
panded too  fast,  and  it  looked  as  if  the  whole 
thing  might  go  to  pieces  as  soon  as  he 
dropped  it.  But  I  had  enough  ready  cash 
to  throw  in  to  save  the  day,  and  I  closed 
out  the  business  with  three  hundred  thousand 
showing  clear." 

"Good,"  said  Clarke.  "You  must  have 
used  keen  judgment." 

"Well,  sir,  I  guess  my  judgment's  about 
116 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

as  good  as  anybody's,  when  there 's  a  few 
dollars  at  stake.  I  have  been  pretty  suc- 
cessful for  a  fellow  that  started  with  nothing 
but  these!" 

He  held  out  his  two  rugged  hands. 

"And  that"  Clarke  supplemented,  nod- 
ding. "  I  mean  your  head." 

He  enjoyed  the  unconscious  pride  in  Mr. 
Malsby's  manner:  that  uncalculated  bid  for 
a  word  of  praise  evident  in  his  whole  bearing, 
the  same  characteristic  that  he  had  remarked 
in  the  daughter  and  which  made  him  admire 
and  love  her  the  more. 

Swiftly  he  resolved  to  gratify  the  in- 
stinctive desire.  Without  apology  for  the 
directness  of  the  query,  he  asked: 

"  How  did  you  make  your  money? " 

He  was  entirely  correct  in  his  persuasion 
that  the  question  would  be  received  as  a 
manifestation  of  complimentary  interest 
rather  than  as  an  impertinent  intrusion. 
Malsby  warmed  to  the  subject. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  made  my  start  in  corn,  and 
as  fast  as  I  made  a  dollar,  I  put  it  into  corn 
lands  —  the  safest  and  most  profitable  in- 
vestment that  can  be  made  in  this  country 
today.  Better  than  Government  bonds," 
he  added  with  emphasis. 
117 


THE  UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"Why,  you  surprise  me,"  said  Clarke. 
"I  thought  there  was  no  investment  quite 
so  precarious  as  Western  farm  mortgages. 
We  New  Englanders  have  lost  millions  in 
them." 

"I  know  you  'have!"  Mr.  Malsby 
chuckled.  "But  there  are  Western  farms 
and  Western  farms.  You  can't  make  a 
mistake  if  you  buy  a  farm  right  in  the  Corn 
Belt.  That  doesn't  mean  just  anywhere 
that  people  are  trying  to  raise  corn!  It 
means  anywhere  in  a  strictly  limited  area, 
where  planted  corn  is  dead  sure  to  grow 
money.  It's  like  the  champagne  belt  in 
France." 

"I  see,"  said  Clarke.  "There's  the  ad- 
vantage local  knowledge  has  over  remote 
ignorance." 

"Why,"  said  Mr.  Malsby,  "farms  that  I 
bought  for  ten  or  fifteen  dollars  an  acre  are 
worth  a  hundred  now,  and  under  leases  are 
paying  handsome  dividends  on  that  figure 
right  now,  Sir. 

"  And  I  '11  tell  you  another  thing.  Upon 
the  corn  crop  grown  on  these  lands  depends 
the  price  of  hogs.  And  hogs,  sir,  are  one  of 
the  corner-stones  of  American  prosperity! 
Put  the  two  together — corn,  hogs  —  in  the 
118 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

way  I  have  indicated,  and,  if  you  know  the 
market,  they  spell  profits!" 

"  Kansas  and  Chicago,"  said  Clarke, 
"feed  America." 

"Well,  my  boy,  now  you  can  see  that 
Louise  is  well  provided  for.  She  gets  her 
share  of  her  husband's  property,  and  she  '11 
get  my  bit  of  a  pile  some  day." 

'  You  know  my  feeling  about  these  mat- 
ters," said  Clarke.  "Why  come  back  to 
them?" 

"No,  now  —  don't  bristle  up!  I'll  give 
it  to  you  straight.  These  holdings" — he 
simply  could  not  keep  off  the  topic,  it 
seemed  —  "are  safe  enough.  The  question 
is,  what  is  to  become  of  the  Willoughby 
millions?  Are  the  children  going  to  get 
their  father's  share,  or  is  this  damned  skunk 
of  a  Sharp  going  to  do  them  out  of  it  ?  And 
just  you  put  this  down  in  your  notebook, 
muy  pronto;  it  is  not  a  fact  that  Louise  and 
I  have  any  hankering  after  this  fortune  just 
because  it's  money.  Even  on  the  young- 
sters' account,  I  'd  never  worry  about  it  — 
except  that  I  'd  creep  a  mile  for  every  cent 
of  it,  on  my  bare  knees,  before  I  'd  let  that 
scoundrel  walk  away  with  it.  The  stake 
isn't  money  alone;  it's  justice  —  see?" 
119 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"Is  this  fellow  Sharp  really  so  bad?" 
Clarke  asked. 

"Is  he?  Is  he?"  Mr.  Malsby  showed 
some  excitement.  "He  sure  is  —  and  we'll 
find  him  worse,  too,  I  guess,  before  we  get 
to  the  bottom  of  it! 

"  Sharp  has  just  walked  right  into  the 
Willoughby  Mansion  and  taken  possession. 
He  wears  the  dead  man's  shoes  as  if  they  'd 
been  made  for  him.  It  would  jar  you  to  see 
him  at  the  head  of  the  family  pew  of  a 
Sunday  morning." 

"  Do  the  younger  Willoughbys  stand  for 
it?"  asked  Clarke  in  surprise. 

"  They  do !  They  Ve  got  to !  Louise  says 
she  told  you  how  he  holds  a  club  over  their 
heads,  with  his  knowledge  of  how  the  Works 
were  run  when  the  old  man  was  alive. 

"  Sharp  made  his  first  successful  move 
when  he  got  the  old  man  to  make  his  will, 
leaving  all  his  money  to  his  wife,  and  naming 
him,  Sharp,  as  executor. 

;'  That  will  was  a  wonder.  It  provided 
that  if  any  of  the  children  attempted  to 
break  it,  they  should  be  disinherited  by  his 
wife.  That  was  the  only  respect  in  which  he 
curtailed  her  right  to  dispose  of  the  property 
as  she  pleased." 

120 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  That  was  clever,"  said  Clarke,  "  but  not 
original.  Men  have  made  such  wills  in  favor 
of  their  wives,  in  order  to  compel  the  good 
behavior  of  the  children  to  their  mother." 

"  Oh!  yes  —  and  I  don't  doubt  that  Sharp 
used  that  argument  to  influence  Old  Man 
Willoughby.  And,  you  see,  the  old  man 
overlooked  the  fact  that  such  a  provision 
would  make  it  possible  for  the  mother  to 
deprive  any  one  of  the  children  of  his  right- 
ful inheritance.  Or,  if  he  considered  it,  he 
may  have  decided  that  such  a  thing  would 
never  be  thought  of,  and  need  not  be  pro- 
vided against.  What  he  did  certainly  over- 
look was  the  rottenness  of  that  fellow 
Sharp!" 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Clarke,  "  am  I  right  in 
supposing  that  Sharp  has  used  his  influence 
over  Old  Mrs.  Willoughby  with  the  idea  of 
influencing  her,  later,  to  disinherit  your 
daughter,  and  will  part  of  the  property  to 
him?  I  thought  when  your  daughter  told 
me  about  it,  that  she  was  allowing  Sharp 
more  power  than  he  possessed  — " 

"Not  a  damned  bit!    And  all  he's  got, 

he  means  to  use!    But  that 's  what  I  'm  here 

for;  I'm  going  to  see  justice  done.     I'm 

going  to  watch  out  for  those  children,  sir ! " 

121 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"  And  what  is  your  plan  of  action? "  asked 
Clarke,  the  instinct  of  the  lawyer  stirring. 

"  I  propose  to  force  Sharp  to  put  his  cards 
right  out  on  the  table — including  the  ace  he 
holds  up  his  sleeve — to  find  out  just  how 
much  there  is  in  the  estate,  then  to  persuade 
the  old  lady  to  make  a  will  right  away,  let 
Judge  Pike  draw  it  up  with  all  due  for- 
mality, and  keep  possession  of  it.  He  has  the 
confidence  of  everybody  about  here,  and 
we  '11  see  that  no  dirty  work  is  done  —  that 
the  children  get  what  would  have  been  their 
father's  share.  How  does  that  strike  you? " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  could  do  any  better. 
Of  course,  that  would  not  prevent  the  old 
lady  from  giving  her  property  away  in  her 
lifetime,  nor  would  it  prevent  her  from  mak- 
ing another  will.  However,  a  later  will 
made  in  favor  of  Sharp  and  his  wife,  by  a 
woman  of  her  advanced  years,  would  prob- 
ably, under  the  circumstances,  be  easily 
broken,  on  the  ground  of  undue  influence." 

"  Good!  Now,  until  that  will  is  made,  we 
have  got  to  lay  low,  to  play  Br'er  Rabbit. 
It  won't  do  to  give  John  Sharp  or  Mother 
Willoughby  any  excuse  for  refusing  to  pro- 
vide for  the  children.  Now,  what  would  be 
the  best  pretext  she  could  possibly  have? " 
122 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

'Your  daughter  mentioned  the  objection 
the  old  lady  would  have  to  her  marrying 
again  —  " 

"  There  you  Ve  got  it!  That 's  the  key  to 
the  whole  situation.  Of  course,  Louise 
knows  the  old  lady  better  than  I  do  —  and 
she  says  if  it  were  known  that  she  had  be- 
come engaged,  and  was  going  to  live  in  an- 
other part  of  the  country  and  take  the  chil- 
dren with  her,  why,  that  would  be  the  end  of 
their  inheritance.  And  I  feel  mighty  certain 
she 's  right." 

"And  — "said  Clarke. 

"  And  that  means  that  the  only  condition 
upon  which  you  and  Louise  can  enter  upon  a 
formal  engagement  now  is  that  it  shall  be 
kept  absolutely  secret.  I  hate  to  have  to 
be  the  one  to  name  it  to  you,  for  it's  a 
mighty  mean  condition.  However,  you 
know  how  I  'm  fixed  and  where  I  stand  in 
all  these  matters. 

"And,  by  jingo,  if  that  condition  is  ac- 
ceptable to  you,  then  you  not  only  have  my 
full  assent,  but  you  have  my  assurance  that 
I  shall  feel  honored,  highly  honored,  by  the 
alliance." 

Clarke  decided  with  the  speed  of  a  lover's 
impatience.  Why  let  so  small  an  obstacle 
123 


stand  in  the  way  of  his  claim  upon  the  lady 
being  established  as  "official"? 

He  grasped  Mr.  Malsby's  hand,  thanked 
him  for  his  friendliness,  and  assured  him 
earnestly  that  his  confidence  would  not  prove 
to  have  been  misplaced. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Malsby,  "  I  '11  round  up 
the  ladies  —  I  expect  I  won't  have  very  far 
to  look  for  them  —  and  we  '11  report." 

Mrs.  Malsby,  as  she  entered  the  room, 
gave  in  her  appearance  every  indication  of 
complete  consciousness  of  the  gravity  of  the 
situation.  Mrs.  Willoughby  wore  an  air  of 
pleased  anticipation  clouded  with  hesitancy. 

Mr.  Malsby  assumed  an  air  of  mock 
gravity,  and  said: 

"The  congregation  will  please  come  to 
order.  The  Committee  on  Ordination  begs 
to  report  that  it  has  examined  the  candidate 
on  all  points  touching  his  religious  beliefs  and 
unbeliefs,  and  has  found  him  thoroughly 
orthodox,  holding  only  such  beliefs  as  be- 
come a  Christian  gentleman. 

"  Really,  mother,"  he  hastened  to  add,  as 
Mrs.  Malsby  started  to  speak,  "we  have 
talked  the  thing  out  to  a  finish — Mr.  Clarke 
is  all  right — you  will  approve  of  his  religion 
when  I  tell  you  about  it. 
124 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"  And  now,  daughter,"  and  there  was  a 
deep  note  of  tenderness  in  his  voice,  "step 
here." 

Mrs.  Willoughby  stepped  forward. 

"I  give  you,"  said  her  father,  with  an 
emotion  he  no  longer  tried  to  conceal,  "I 
give  you  in  betrothal  to  this  worthy  claimant 
for  your  hand." 

Then  he  resorted  again  to  the  subterfuge 
of  a  playful  manner,  and  said: 

"  And  now  I  offer  him  an  opportunity  to 
show  that  he  has  no  hard  feelings." 

Whereupon  Chester  Clarke  gave  full  and 
abundant  demonstration  —  for  not  only  did 
he  kiss  his  betrothed  one  with  fervor,  but  he 
saluted  her  mother  on  each  cheek,  to  the 
utter  confusion  of  the  good  lady. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  children  were  not 
to  be  let  into  the  secret,  as  Mrs.  Willoughby 
was  anxious  to  wait  until  they  might  be  led 
to  make  the  suggestion  apparently  on  their 
own  initiative.  And  Clarke  was  to  be  per- 
mitted to  share  his  joy  with  his  own  family 
and  with  perhaps  one  or  two  of  his  closest 
friends.  During  the  remainder  of  his  stay 
in  Topeka,  he  was  to  be  the  lawyer  who  had 
come  from  the  East  on  business  for  Mr. 
Malsby. 

125 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

As  they  followed  her  father  and  mother 
out,  Mrs.  Willoughby  said  in  a  low  tone: 

"It's  all  for  the  children,  Chester,  my 
dear  one.  And  we  shall  be  all  the  happier 
some  day,  denying  ourselves  for  their  sake ! " 


126 


PART  TWO 


PART  TWO 

CHAPTER  I 

FROM  the  hour  in  which  he  had  sealed 
the  compact  with  Mrs.  Willoughby, 
Chester  Clarke  had  found  himself  com- 
mitted to  a  life  which  involved  him  con- 
stantly in  contradictions  with  his  natural 
inclinations.  He  was  frank,  outspoken, 
straightforward.  Subterfuge  was  foreign 
to  his  temperament.  He  had  always  hated 
deceit,  scorned  intrigue,  and  feared  no 
scrutiny  of  his  motives  or  his  acts.  This 
candor,  surpassing  the  common  measure  of 
honesty,  was  the  broad  and  solid  base  upon 
which  rested  securely  the  rising  structure  of 
his  reputation  at  the  bar.  Opposing  counsel 
had  to  call  upon  their  strongest  reserves 
when  engaged  in  logomachy  with  him  —  but 
they  never  needed  to  watch  him  for  sharp 
practices.  What  finer  professional  asset 
could  a  man  wish  than  such  testimony  as  this 
from  his  rivals  and  competitors? 

But  now  he  had  a  secret  to  guard.    He, 
129 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

who  had  never  needed  to  censor  his  words 
before  uttering  them,  must  now  be  con- 
stantly on  the  watch  lest  a  word  betray  him. 
And  this  was  none  of  your  natural  secrets, 
those  dark  and  heavy  bits  of  knowledge 
whose  specific  gravity  sinks  them  deep  in  the 
fluid  of  the  mind;  this  was  a  bright  and 
buoyant  thing,  seeking  the  surface,  like  a 
bubble  born  to  float  in  the  sunlight  and  turn 
each  ray  into  a  flashing  spectrum.  It  made 
him  happy — and  happiness  is  lightly  vocal. 
It  made  him  exultant  —  and  the  natural 
speech  of  exultation  is  a  challenging  cheer. 
And  he  must  hide  his  happiness,  repress  his 
exultation,  and  be  silent. 

He,  who  had  never  either  shunned  pub- 
licity or  invited  it,  now  found  himself  of  an 
evening,  as  he  looked  through  his  Transcript, 
wondering  how  it  would  seem  to  be  con- 
fronted by  a  paragraph  like  this :  "  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Malsby  of  Lawrence,  Kansas,  have 
announced  the  engagement  of  their  daugh- 
ter, Mrs.  Clara  Louise  Willoughby,  to 
Chester  Clarke,  junior  partner  in  the  well- 
known  law  firm  of and  Clarke.  Mrs. 

Willoughby  is  the  widow  of  the  late  Walter 

Willoughby  of  Topeka.     Mr.  Clarke  is  a 

graduate  of  Harvard,  one  of  the  most  promi- 

130 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

nent  members  of  the  Boston  Bar,  a  member 
of  the  Union  and  Country  Clubs."  He 
thought  he  would  rather  like  it.  Such  a 
notice  would  put  matters  on  their  natural 
footing. 

But  this,  and  the  satisfaction  of  introduc- 
ing his  beautiful  fiancee  to  his  friends,  must 
be  forgone:  "for  the  children's  sake"  —  she 
had  said;  and  that  meant,  to  him,  for  her 
sake.  Whatever  was  asked  for  her  sake  was 
certain  to  be  granted  by  him,  ungrudgingly ; 
not  easily,  perhaps,  but  always  the  more 
joyously  the  greater  the  sacrifice,  because 
true  love  welcomes  sacrifice,  its  best  expres- 
sion. Besides,  the  day  could  not  be  long  de- 
layed when  he  would  be  free  to  act  accord- 
ing to  the  promptings  of  his  nature.  Mean- 
while, irksome  though  it  might  be,  he  would 
make  this  experience  a  soil  for  the  growth 
of  satisfaction  by  living  up  to  the  last  letter 
of  the  requirement.  His  reconciliation  to 
the  arrangement  was  made  complete  in  the 
ultimate  degree,  by  its  appeal  to  his  innate 
and  developed  chivalry:  it  was  for  her  sake! 

During  the  last  days  of  his  visit  at  Topeka 
he  had  begun  to  play  the  game,  ungrudg- 
ingly, faithfully,  joyfully.  It  had  been 
really  a  game.  He  had  been  careful  in  the 
131 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

presence  of  the  servants  to  let  no  careless 
word  escape,  no  look  betray  the  secret.  He 
had  treated  the  children  as  any  casual  visitor 
who  liked  children  would  have  been  expected 
to;  he  had  been  formally  friendly,  not  fa- 
miliar, in  his  relations  with  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Malsby.  Hungry  for  kisses,  he  had  taken 
one  for  every  forty  he  wanted,  and  had  taken 
that  one  as  guardedly  as  though  it  had  been 
illicit.  His  deportment,  so  far  as  any  eye 
had  seen  it,  had  been  that  of  the  business 
man  on  a  business  errand.  Louise's  constant 
presence  had  helped ;  but  now,  back  in  Bos- 
ton, without  that  solace,  he  found  the  game 
less  easy.  The  very  ignorance  and  unsus- 
pectingness  of  his  friends  and  associates 
made  him  restless. 

But  there  was  another  side  to  it.  His 
outlook  on  life  had  changed.  Life  seemed 
nobler,  broader,  more  full  of  purpose.  He 
had  a  greater  part  to  play,  in  the  practical 
view,  an  added  incentive  to  his  striving  for 
professional  success.  The  light  of  his  fame 
would  shine  upon  her!  He  felt  more  kindly 
disposed  toward  his  fellow  man.  He  even 
attempted  poetry  as  many  a  one  before  him 
has  when  first  smitten  with  the  divine  afflatus. 
These  lines  he  called: 

132 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

WAYMATES 

Over  the  hills  and  through  the  heather, 
All  in  the  merry  midyear  weather  — 

Under  the  sky 

Of  dear  July, 
Wandering,  just  we  two  together. 

You  and  I,  in  the  wide  world's  ways, 
You  and  I,  in  the  golden  days  — 

The  ways  of  youth, 

The  days  of  truth — 
Young  life  and  love  and  tuneful  lays! 

Over  the  hills  to  the  sunset  strand, 
Over  the  waves  to  the  wonderland 

Beyond  the  dim 

And  gloaming  rim 
Of  the  old  gray  world  go,  hand  in  hand  — 

Hand  in  hand  (for  the  dice  are  thrown), 
Heart  of  my  heart,  my  love,  my  own — 

Blue  sky  o'er  us, 

And  before  us 
Luring  lights  of  the  far  unknown. 

Less  ecstatically,  he  had  written : 

"  STATE  STREET,  BOSTON, 

"May  20,  19—. 
"  MY  DEAR  MR.  MALSBY  :  — 

"  Let  me  thank  you  for  the  cordial  manner 
133 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

in  which  you  received  me  at  Topeka,  and  for 
the  confidence  you  have  reposed  in  me  in 
giving  your  assent  to  my  engagement  to 
your  daughter.  I  hope  and  trust,  not  only 
that  I  shall  be  a  good  husband  to  her,  but 
that  I  may  be  able  in  some  way  to  help 
make  your  later  years  —  and  may  they  be 
many!  —  your  best  and  happiest. 

"If  at  any  time  you  are  able  to  visit 
Boston,  it  will  afford  me  the  greatest  pleas- 
ure to  entertain  you,  and  to  have  you  meet 
some  of  my  friends.  You  will  like  Boston 
still  better  when  you  know  them. 

"  Present  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Malsby, 
and  believe  me, 

"  Yours  faithfully, 

"CHESTER  CLARKE." 

The  old  man's  prompt  answer  had  de- 
lighted Clarke  with  its  simple  sincerity: 

"  TOPEKA,  KANSAS, 

"  May  24,  19—. 
"  CHESTER  CLARKE,  ESQ., 

"  State  Street,  Boston. 
"  MY  DEAR  SON-TO-BE  :  — 

'Your  letter  of  May  20  came  duly  to 
hand.    Contents  noted. 
134 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"  I  make  no  doubt  you  will  be  not  only  a 
good  husband  to  Louise,  but  that  you  will 
be  a  good  father  to  her  children.  I  don't 
suppose  I  am  very  long  for  this  world,  and 
when  these  business  matters  get  adjusted, 
you  can't  get  married  too  soon  to  suit  me. 

"  Thank  you  for  your  invite  to  visit  you. 
I  hope  it  may  happen,  and  will  try  to  bring 
it  about. 

"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"ROBERT  MALSBY." 

Then  Clarke's  literary  labors  had  gone  a 
step  farther.  First  he  had  bought  an  en- 
gagement ring,  a  token  of  their  plighted 
troth.  What  would  be  good  enough  for  her? 
He  must  find  one  like  herself:  beautiful, 
artistic,  chaste.  He  had  run  down  to  New 
York,  to  make  the  purchase  away  from 
curious  eyes.  He  had  visited  the  best  shops, 
had  looked  over  all  the  stock,  and  had  re- 
turned to  the  place  where  he  had  seen  some- 
thing that  had  seemed  just  to  suit  —  a  large, 
perfectly  shaped  pearl,  of  lovely  lustre  and 
just  a  flush  of  pink,  and  flanked  by  two 
small  diamonds  that  gave  fire  to  the  central 
gem.  Before  sending  it,  he  had  written  a 
note  to  be  placed  in  the  case: 
135 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  DEAiEEST  LOVE :  — 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  there  to  place  this  ring 
on  your  finger.  You  will  have  in  it  a  token 
of  my  lasting  devotion. 

"  £HESTEB." 

And  she  had  written  hack: 

"  MY  DEABEST  BOY  :  — 

"Oh,  what  a  beautiful  ring!  When  I 
opened  the  little  case,  it  flashed  out  with  the 
most  delicate  tints  of  a  sunrise.  I  wish 
everyone  could  see  it ! 

"  And  then  I  read  your  note  and  I  thought 
of  all  this  ring  meant  to  you  and  me,  the 
precious  things  of  which  it  is  a  symbol  — 
and  the  tears  came,  tears  of  joy,  and  I  ran 
upstairs  to  my  room  and  locked  myself  in. 
I  wanted  to  be  alone. 

"  Then  I  put  the  ring  on  my  finger,  and 
knelt  down  and  prayed — prayed  that  I 
might  be  a  good  wife  to  you. 

"  And  now  I  am  wearing  your  ring  as  I 
write' — a  token  of  our  lasting  devotion. 

"Your 

"LouisE." 

After  reading  this  letter  the  necessary 
and  proper  number  of  times,  and  before  lay- 
136 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

ing  it  away  with  his  dearest  personalia, 
Clarke  had  put  it  to  his  lips.  A  perfume, 
the  perfume  that  clung  to  everything  that 
had  been  in  her  possession,  came  from  it. 

She  seemed  very  near  to  him   at  that 
moment. 


137 


CHAPTER  H 

rTIHE  summer  went  slowly  through  its 
A  flow,  high  tide  and  ebb.  An  unbroken 
succession  of  letters  passed  between  Bos- 
ton and  Topeka;  letters  loaded  with  asser- 
tions of  unabated  affection,  and  graced  with 
frequent  discoveries  of  some  new  phase  of 
the  wonderful  love  that  had  entered  their 
lives.  Each  letter  had  its  report  also  of 
their  daily  doings. 

Clarke  had  spent  this  summer,  for  the 
most  part,  at  the  North  Shore,  where  he  was 
within  easy  reach  of  his  office,  to  which  he 
was  closely  confined.  He  had  made  one 
yachting  cruise  with  a  party  of  friends  along 
the  Maine  coast.  So  that  these  letters  were 
bright  and  happy,  and  only  the  more  pleas- 
ant to  their  reader  because  of  the  constant 
revelation  of  a  gentle  impatience  under  the 
necessity  of  continued  separation.  As  the 
summer  grew  older,  however,  Clarke's  long- 
ing for  Louise's  companionship  became  more 
impetuous. 

Her  letters  told  of  the  life  in  Topeka. 
138 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Father  and  mother  were  well;  they  were 
planning  the  new  home  in  California.  The 
doctors  had  advised  the  change  of  climate. 
The  children  were  enjoying  their  long  vaca- 
tion; Alice  often  spoke  of  him,  Clarke,  but 
Ernest  had  hardly  mentioned  him. 

Old  Mrs.  Willoughby,  though  seldom 
seen,  was  apparently  in  the  best  of  health. 
Mr.  Malsby  had  taken  up  the  matter  of  the 
will  with  the  other  members  of  the  family, 
who  were  giving  him  what  help  they  could. 
Sharp  was  hanging  about.  He  was  making 
himself  very  strong  in  the  community,  tak- 
ing a  leading  part  in  its  public  charities. 
He  and  Lucy,  she  had  heard,  were  to  take 
old  Mrs.  Willoughby  to  New  York  with 
them  in  the  winter.  While  he  (Sharp)  had 
been  away,  on  business,  Mr.  Malsby  had  had 
one  or  two  interviews  with  old  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby, to  whom  he  had  talked  pretty 
plainly  —  Oh,  and  he  had  also  gone  over 
the  situation  with  Judge  Pike  who  had  prom- 
ised to  do  all  he  could. 

The  new  house  took  a  larger  and  larger 
part  in  the  eastward  section  of  the  corre- 
spondence. It  was  to  be  a  big  place,  in  mis- 
sion style.  The  architect  had  been  given 
carte  blanche,  and  he  had  devoted  his  in- 
139 


genuity  to  devising  new  contributions  to  the 
attractiveness  of  its  appearance  and  to  the 
comfort  of  its  occupants. 

There  would  be  large,  airy  parlors,  broad 
verandahs,  hanging  balconies,  an  open-air 
breakfast  room,  chambers  with  dressing 
room  and  bath  en  suite;  library  and  music 
room,  with  a  magnificent  pipe  organ.  The 
furnishings  were  all  to  come  from  St.  Louis. 

Father  and  Mother  Malsby  were  con- 
stantly coming  to  her,  Louise,  with  questions 
and  pleas  for  advice.  Should  there  be  a 
window  here,  or  would  there  be  better? 
Would  this  verandah  better  be  placed  so  — 
looking  toward  the  bay,  or  so.,  giving  the 
land  view?  Would  not  a  loggia  be  desirable 
here,  and  a  sunken  garden  there?  And  as 
to  pictures — and  chairs  —  and  hangings! 
"  They  are  always  asking  me,  and  I  try  to  be 
interested ;  but  my  thoughts  are  on  the  home 
we  shall  some  day  have — soon,  I  hope  — 
you  and  I,  in  the  East." 

Once  Clarke  wrote :  "  I  wonder  that  your 
father  has  ventured  to  put  so  much  money 
into  a  dwelling  house.  It  looks  to  me  like  an 
investment  of  a  hundred  thousand,  at  least." 

And  she  wrote  back:  "Father  says  that 
he  means  this  place  to  be  the  very  best  he  can 
140 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

make  it  —  and  Mother  has  put  her  heart 
into  the  scheme.  It  is  remarkable  to  see  how 
much  younger  it  has  made  her,  how  much 
more  interest  she  takes  in  life.  You  would 
never  have  expected  her  to  be  so  enthusiastic 
over  anything!  It  seems  as  though  it  were 
realizing  the  dream  of  her  girlhood.  Really, 
the  two  are  just  simply  having  another 
honeymoon,  and  it's  perfectly  lovely  to  see 
them  so  happy." 

Mr.  Malsby  wrote  in  more  practical  vein. 
He  said: 

"  I  like  it  out  there,  and  the  doctors  say  it 
will  keep  me  going  years  longer.  Whether 
they  're  right  or  not,  I  Ve  been  out  there, 
and  I  like  the  place.  People  go  in  for  living 
there.  I  'm  too  far  along  to  be  very  gay 
myself,  but  us  old  fellows  like  to  see  the 
young  ones  having  a  good  time.  I  got  a 
splendid  big  lot  on  the  finest  boulevard  in 
the  best  resident  section,  at  a  great  bargain. 
It  can  never  lose  its  value,  and  is  pretty  sure 
to  be  worth  more  every  year.  Rich  Ameri- 
cans are  getting  richer,  and  California  is 
their  playground." 

It  was  in  July  that  he  had  pleasant  evi- 
dence of  success,  in  half  at  least  of  her  plan 
for  bringing  the  children  over  to  their  pro- 
141 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

posed  marriage.    He  received  a  note,  written 
in  a  childish  but  painstaking  hand: 

"  DEAR  MR.  CLARKE  :  — 

"  My  mamma  has  told  me  that  you  would 
like  to  marry  her.  She  is  very  lonely  since 
papa  left  her.  Sometimes  she  cries.  Ernest 
and  I  are  as  good  to  her  as  we  know  how  to 
be,  but  it  is  not  the  same.  I  am  sorry  for  her 
and  I  think  it  would  be  nice  to  have  you  as  a 
new  papa,  so  you  had  better  marry  her  as 
quick  as  ever  you  can. 

'  Your  loving 

"ALICE." 

He  replied: 

"My  DEAR  LITTLE  FRIEND:  — 

"  I  found  your  small  note  in  a  pile  of  big 
letters  on  my  desk  this  morning.  None  of 
them  were  half  as  nice  as  yours.  I  read  it 
first.  I  'm  glad  that  you  think  I  would  make 
you  a  good  papa.  We  would  have  good 
times  together,  would  we  not?  I  hope  I 
shall  see  you  soon  again.  I  thank  you  for 
writing. 

"  I  enclose  one  hug,  and  one  big  kiss  — 
don't  miss  them. 

"  Your  devoted  friend, 

"CHESTER  CLARKE." 
142 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

There  were  some  things  in  the  letters  that 
brought  Clarke  less  pleasure.  Once  or  twice 
they  gave  him  a  pang  of — what  was  it? 
Not  jealousy;  he  was  too  strong  a  man  for 
that.  It  was  not  suspicion;  his  Louise  was 
far  above  that.  But  it  was  a  very  real  pain. 
Such  things  as  this  caused  it:  Louise  wrote 
about  a  card  party  to  which  she  had  gone 
one  evening.  She  told  how  one  or  two 
gentlemen  had  paid  her  rather  marked  at- 
tention, and  added  that  their  wives  were 
clearly  jealous.  She  reported  the  incident 
without  a  hint  of  impropriety.  But — it 
hurt!  Clarke  could  not  formulate  a  griev- 
ance; if  he  could  have  done  so  he  would 
have  refused,  absolutely,  to  acknowledge  it 
even  to  himself.  His  Louise  could  not  be 
kept  out  of  sight.  His  Louise  must  be  ad- 
mired whenever  and  wherever  she  was  seen. 
He  must  school  himself  to  submit  with 
patience  to  what  was,  after  all,  the  most 
honest  of  tributes  to  her  loveliness  —  and  so 
to  his  own  good  judgment. 

But  it  was  a  greater  trial  when  she  wrote : 

"DEAR  ONE:  — 

"  I  have  had  such  a  good  time!    I  went  to 
Chicago  on  a  shopping  trip.    I  stayed  two 
143 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

or  three  days  with  some  friends  there.  At 
dinner  the  first  night,  there  was  another 
guest,  a  very  prominent  man  who  is  presi- 
dent of  some  railroad  or  other.  He  must 
be  well  along  in  the  fifties,  but  is  very  gal- 
lant, and  decidedly  good  looking.  He  paid 
a  very  great  deal  of  attention  to  me.  That 
night  my  hostess  joked  me  about  it,  and  said 
I'd  be  sure  to  have  a  proposal  from  him! 
Wasn't  it  ridiculous?  I  thought  so,  of 
course — but  what  do  you  think  happened! 
The  very  next  day  there  came  for  me  a 
magnificent  box  of  flowers.  I  don't  see  how 
it  could  have  cost  a  penny  less  than  fifty 
dollars  —  with  his  card,  and  a  graceful  little 
sentiment  on  it.  Of  course,  I  showed  it  to 
Mary,  and  we  had  a  good  laugh  together. 
But  the  next  day  he  called,  and  proposed  — 
much  to  my  astonishment." 

Even  this  caused  Clarke  no  severe  dis- 
turbance. The  instinctive  recoil  found  no 
justification  in  his  mind. 

These  letters  did,  however,  increase  his 
uneasiness  in  the  separation.  It  is  the  simple 
fact  that  he  was  not  jealous,  nor  suspicious; 
and  he  was  absolutely  sure  in  his  attitude 
of  utter  faith,  for  Louise  had  not  even  the 
slightest  thought  of  danger  to  their  love. 
144 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

There  was  no  danger!  But  Clarke  wanted 
her.  He  could  not  go  on  living  with  all  those 
miles  of  good  American  land  between  them. 
One  way  or  another,  he  must  have  her  near 
him. 

So  he  wrote  that  either  she  must  come 
East,  or  he  would  have  to  go  to  Kansas.  He 
could  not  live  without  her.  He  could  endure 
the  separation  no  longer!  Which  «would 
she  prefer? 

The  hours  of  waiting  for  reply  'dragged 
endlessly,  but  at  last  came  her  answer,  and 
it  made  him  happy. 

"Dear  Boy,"  she  wrote,  "I  can  under- 
stand so  well  how  you  feel  —  for  I  feel  the 
same  way.  I  miss  you  so!  I  think  of  you 
all  day,  I  dream  of  you  at  night.  Some- 
times I  want  to  walk  right  up  to  someone, 
anyone,  and  say :  '  I  love  Chester  Clarke  — 
do  you  know  it?  I  love  the  dearest,  noblest 
man  on  earth  and  I  am  going  to  marry  him ! ' 

"  Now,  I  have  some  good  news  for  you. 
I  am  coming  East!  We  have  decided  to 
place  Ernest  in  a  school  on  the  Hudson,  and 
Alice  is  to  go  to  a  girls'  school  nearby.  Of 
course,  I  shall  go  on  with  them  and  see  them 
properly  installed  —  and  then,  dear,  cannot 
you  and  I  have  a  visit  together?  It  has  been 
145 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

so  hard,  being  deprived  of  the  companion- 
ship that  is  ours  by  right. 

"  Oh,  Chester,  I  hate  this  money  business! 
But  it  all  has  to  be  done  for  the  children  — 
and  I  know  you  are  as  anxious  as  myself  to 
save  them  from  injustice.  I  dread  that  man 
Sharp !  If  he  were  a  real  criminal,  an  open 
lawbreaker,  I  should  fear  him  less.  If  he 
were  more  the  villain,  I  should  know  better 
how  to  deal  with  him.  He  is  the  more  harm- 
ful, because  of  his  seeming  virtue.  I  believe 
he  is  not  so  much  deliberately  planning 
wickedness,  as  following  his  own  scheming 
nature! 

"It  all  comes  to  one  thing,  my  dear  — 
you  and  I  must  be  together  for  a  while.  I 
shall  reach  New  York,  after  placing  the 
children  in  school,  September  28.  Will  you 
meet  me  there?" 

Chester  Clarke  thought  it  quite  likely  that 
he  would;  and  immediately  wrote  her  so. 

September  28 — he  marked  the  day  on  his 
calendar,  so  that  he  could  cross  off  the  days 
between  as  they  passed,  like  a  soldier  cutting 
a  notch  in  his  gunstock  for  every  one  of  the 
foemen  he  brought  down.  Every  day  that 
stood  between  him  and  September  28  was  an 
enemy,  to  be  slain  without  mercy! 
146 


CHAPTER  m 

THEY  were  on  their  way  East,  Louise 
and  the  two  children.  Clarke  had 
wished  there  were  some  place  where  he  could 
entertain  them,  but  his  father  and  mother 
were  dead,  and  the  only  other  relatives  he 
had  were  his  sister  and  aunt,  who  kept  house 
together  in  the  suburbs  on  a  scale  too  small 
to  be  able  to  stand  such  an  invasion.  So 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  see  his  fiancee 
in  New  York,  and  to  wait  until  she  should 
send  for  him.  Life  seemed  to  have  become, 
for  him,  one  long  wait ! 

At  last  a  letter  came,  saying  she  had 
placed  the  children  in  school,  and  was  at  one 
of  the  Fifth  Avenue  hotels  ready  to  receive 
him.  This  was  an  old-fashioned,  superla- 
tively respectable  and  notedly  domestic 
house. 

Clarke  reached  New  York  well  on  in  the 
afternoon  and  went  straight  to  the  hotel. 
He  took  a  room,  then  sent  up  his  card,  and 
went  to  the  parlor  to  wait:  always  wait  — 
but  now  it  would  be  only  a  matter  of  min- 
utes, instead  of  days  and  weeks ! 
147 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Soon  she  came,  looking  lovelier  than  ever. 

After  a  moment,  in  which  they  exchanged 
greetings,  Clarke  said: 

"Dear,  if  we  stay  here  another  minute, 
there  will  be  a  '  scene ' !  I  cannot  wait,  pro- 
prieties or  no!" 

"  Let 's  go  up  to  my  room,"  she  said.  "  I, 
too,  hate  this  formality." 

As  they  went  up  in  the  elevator,  she  said : 

"  I  have  always  stopped  here  on  my  visits 
to  New  York,  the  house  is  so  quiet  and  com- 
fortable—  so  homey.  They  have  always 
been  kind  and  obliging  at  the  office  and  it  is 
convenient  to  have  a  place  where  you  are  so 
well  known  that  you  can  get  a  check  cashed 
at  any  time." 

Once  in  the  room,  with  the  door  closed  be- 
hind them  and  all  the  curious  eyes  of  the 
world  shut  out,  Clarke  held  out  his  arms,  and 
she  let  herself  be  gathered  close  in  them. 
Sweeter  were  the  kisses,  for  the  long  time 
without  them. 

Then  Clarke  seated  himself  in  a  big  easy 
chair,  and  again  folded  his  beloved  one 
in  his  arms.  And  there  they  sat,  scarcely 
speaking,  while  the  clock  on  the  mantel 
ticked  off  the  full  minutes.  They  were  liv- 
ing in  an  eternity  —  one  of  love's  eternities 
148 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

—  bound  up  in  a  few  moments  of  the  time 
which  we  measure  off  so  grudgingly  when 
under  the  tyranny  of  smaller  matters.  It 
was  enough  for  each  of  them  just  to  be  in 
the  presence  of  the  other.  All  the  great 
lovers  of  the  world  —  and  most  of  the  little 
ones,  made  greater  by  love — have  known 
these  all-encompassing  moments. 

The  clock  struck  the  half  hour,  then  the 
hour.  The  circle  of  the  little  eternity  had 
been  explored.  They  parted  for  the  time 
needed  to  dress  for  dinner. 

Then  there  followed  the  happiest  of  meals. 
They  went  to  the  theatre.  Clarke  escorted 
Louise  to  her  room,  they  said  good-night 
in  lovers'  fashion,  and  Clarke  returned  to 
his  own  quarters. 

A  sharp  rap  followed  almost  immediately. 
Wondering  who  could  wish  to  see  him  at 
that  time  and  place,  he  opened  the  door. 

An  attache  of  the  hotel  stood  in  the 
corridor. 

"  You  have  just  come  from  a  lady's  room," 
he  said,  curtly. 

Clarke  was  too  surprised  and  indignant 
to  shape  his  words. 

"Why  —  what  do  you  mean?"  he  asked: 
not  very  brilliantly  or  effectively,  as  he  had 
149 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

to  admit  to  himself  afterward.  But  he  was 
taken  clean  off  his  feet,  bowled  over. 

"I  mean  just  that  —  that  you  have  just 
left  the  room  of  a  lady  who  is  our  guest." 

"Well!"  said  Clarke,  "is  that  any  con- 
cern of  yours?" 

In  the  utter  consciousness  of  virtue,  it  was 
impossible  to  adjust  himself  so  swiftly  to  this 
unexpected  challenge.  The  man  was  inso- 
lent; but  he  represented  the  law-and-order 
of  the  place.  Whether  his  challenge  was 
proper  or  not,  it  had  behind  it  an  unassail- 
able authority. 

"It  is.  No  man  is  allowed  to  enter  a 
woman's  room  in  this  hotel.  It  is  against 
the  rules  of  the  house.  Unless  you  might 
be  the  lady's  husband,"  he  added.  He  was 
evidently  just  a  little  fearful,  after  all. 

Clarke  took  advantage  of  the  man's  un- 
certainty. 

"Well!  you  do  not  know  that  I  am  not 
the  lady's  husband,"  he  said,  and  closed  the 
door. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  aghast.  The 
thing  was  outrageous!  He  could  not  get 
it  straight  in  his  mind;  what  a  world!  He, 
a  gentleman,  to  be  told  by  this  whipper- 
snapper  in  uniform  that  he  should  not  see 
150 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

his  betrothed,  his  One  Woman,  in  private! 
And  yet,  if  that  was  the  rule  of  the  house  — 
the  house,  mindful  of  its  own  interests,  and 
compelled  to  take  people  as  they  came,  had 
a  right  to  make  its  rules  —  had  to  make  rules 
in  self-defence.  Damn  such  rules!  not  as 
rules,  perhaps,  for  his  lawyer  mind  had  to 
analyze,  but  as  rules  dictating  his  course  of 
conduct.  But  —  there  they  were,  the  Rules 
of  the  House,  and  with  the  power  of  en- 
forcement behind  them.  Right  or  wrong, 
good  or  bad,  just  or  unjust,  there  they  were 
—  and  he  was  subject  to  them;  they  could 
not  be  ignored,  certainly  not  defied.  To 
say  more  would  be  to  court  disaster.  Al- 
ready, though  in  perfect  innocence,  he  had 
compromised  the  woman  he  loved,  the 
woman  who  was  to  be  his  wife;  had  com- 
promised her,  at  least,  in  the  eyes  of  this 
contemptible  but  powerful  flunkey,  who 
probably  had  received  his  orders  from  the 
office,  and  would  almost  certainly  report 
there.  At  any  moment  he  might  expect  a 
request  for  both  of  them  to  leave  the  hotel. 
In  rough  words  —  they  would  be  turned  out. 
No  man  had  ever  dared  to  speak  to  Chester 
Clarke  like  that.  This  lackey  could  do  it; 
and  there  was  no  resisting  the  power  he  rep- 
151 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

resented.  It  was  decidedly  an  awkward 
situation  for  Chester  Clarke. 

Indignation — apprehension  —  mortifica- 
tion and  humiliation:  these  were  his  emo- 
tions. They  summed  almost  into  fear. 

He  had  not  had  a  thought  of  anyone 
watching  him.  He  had  thought  of  himself 
and  Louise  being  joyously  isolated  in  the 
crowd.  That  seemed  to  have  been  a  mis- 
conception. The  question  now  was:  What 
to  do? 

Louise  could  have  no  suspicion  of  what 
was  going  on.  She  had  been  as  unconcerned 
in  receiving  him  in  her  room  as  she  would 
have  been  had  he  called  at  her  own  home. 
It  would  distress  her  beyond  measure  to 
know  that  such  a  thing  had  happened.  And 
how  could  she  possibly  help  holding  him  in 
some  degree  responsible?  Even  if  she  did 
not  openly  blame  him,  she  must  inevitably 
associate  him  painfully  with  the  humiliating 
experience.  It  would  rob  their  reunion  of 
its  heavenly  joy,  it  would  darken  their  now 
roseate  future! 

At  last  Clarke  arrived  at  the  one  clear 
solution,  the  one  possible  conclusion.  They 
must  leave  the  place  and  find  other  accom- 
modations ;  and  she  must  not  know  anything 

152 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

about  this  distressing  incident.  He  must 
effect  the  change  without  arousing  her 
suspicion. 

With  this  resolution  in  mind  —  and  still 
nursing  his  indignation  —  he  retired. 

As  they  sat  at  breakfast  the  next  morn- 
ing, chatting  happily,  Clarke  managed  to 
remark  with  satisfactorily  casual  manner: 

"  This  hotel  is  pretty  much  given  over  to 
transients.  It  isn't  just  the  place  for  us. 
You  should  have  an  apartment  —  just  such 
a  place  as  I  got  for  you  in  Boston." 

"Oh,  that  would  be  lovely!"  she  said. 
"  We  should  have  so  much  more  freedom." 

Clarke  shivered. 

"And,"  he  added,  "there  is  another  rea- 
son. In  such  a  place  there  would  be  fewer 
people  coming  and  going,  and  less  likelihood 
of  someone  appearing  who  might  be  too 
much  interested  in  our  affairs." 

Louise  accepted  the  suggestion  with  real 
pleasure  and  no  suspicion  of  special  reasons, 
and  that  day  he  engaged  for  her  an  apart- 
ment on  the  west  side  of  Central  Park, 
while  he  found  rooms  conveniently  near. 

Here  they  were  as  comfortable  as  could 
be  wished.  Clarke  came  and  went  as  he 
pleased,  and  now  and  then  they  had  a  cosy 
153 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

luncheon  in  her  parlor.  They  made  love — 
they  talked  about  the  children  —  they  had 
pleasant  rambles  in  the  Park,  and  went  to 
various  entertainments. 

But  Louise  seemed  always  to  turn  from 
any  subject  back  to  the  Willoughby  fortune 
and  the  scheming  Sharp.  He  could  not 
divert  her  thoughts  from  it.  He  told  her  she 
was  making  too  much  of  it,  he  begged  her 
to  let  the  affair  take  its  own  course;  but  it 
could  not  be  banished,  it  seemed  almost  an 
obsession  with  her.  It  was  "  all  for  the  chil- 
dren," and  he  tried  to  be  patient,  but  at 
times  he  wearied  of  it,  and  wished  there  had 
been  no  Willoughby  fortune. 

Then  he  would,  long  before  this,  have 
made  her  Mrs.  Clarke  and  installed  her  as 
mistress  of  Chester  Clarke's  home! 


154 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHEN  Clarke  went  back  to  Boston, 
a  day  or  two  later,  leaving  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby  settled  in  this  apartment,  she  told 
him  not  to  worry  about  her,  she  had  shopping 
to  do  and  the  time  would  pass  pleasantly  and 
swiftly. 

"I  shall  enjoy  the  hours,  dear,"  she  said 
playfully,  "  as  they  pass,  for  each  one  that 
goes  by  will  be  bringing  our  next  meeting 
nearer!" 

He  smiled. 

"  Supposing  that  you  let  me  keep  your 
watch  till  you  come  next  time,"  she  added. 
"  It  will  answer  a  twofold  purpose,  to  mark 
the  time,  for  mine  is  not  running,  and  as  a 
security,  a  hostage,  shall  I  say,  of  your  early 
return.  You  are  always  where  you  can  see 
a  clock;  I  shall  not  be." 

"Do  you  really  mean  it  or  are  you 
joking?" 

"  I  really  mean  it.  It  would  be  very  use- 
ful to  me  when  I  am  here  in  the  apartment, 
155 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

and  particularly  at  night,  to  know  the  time. 
You  shall  have  it  back  when  you  return." 

"You  are  to  have  this  watch,"  he  said, 
"  because  it  will  be  of  service  to  you.  If  I 
were  to  furnish  an  adequate  pledge  of  my 
return,  it  would  be  all  that  I  possess,  my  life 
itself." 

When  he  did  return,  she  handed  back  his 
watch  with  the  remark  that  hers  was  running 
now. 

The  first  time  he  opened  it  he  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  his  beloved,  for  there  photo- 
graphed on  the  case  was  the  most  beautiful 
picture  that  he  had  ever  seen  of  her. 

The  next  three  week-ends  Clarke  spent  in 
flying  trips  to  New  York;  and  on  the  third 
visit,  Louise  announced  her  readiness  to  re- 
veal the  Great  Surprise.  During  the  inter- 
vening time  she  had  mystified  him  contin- 
ually. He  was  such  a  stupid  guesser.  He 
guessed  slowly,  but  guessed  many  things, 
for  she  kept  him  at  it  relentlessly,  seeming 
never  to  tire  of  the  sport.  The  more  he 
guessed,  the  further  he  got  from  the  truth, 
she  told  him,  laughing ;  and  when  he  tried  to 
guess  his  way  back,  she  said  he  was  going  in 
circles. 

Had  Clarke  and  his  Louise  possessed  a 
156 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

love  less  simple,  they  would  have  had  less  of 
love  itself.  Loving  as  they  did,  they  loved 
to  play;  were  fortunate  in  having  so  much 
time  for  it,  and  might  have  been  unfortunate 
if  they  had  had  more,  since  love  grows  by 
fasting  as  well  as  by  feeding. 

Thus  it  was  that  Louise's  little  secret  gave 
them  both  so  much  pleasure.  If  she  had 
said,  "My  shopping,  dear,  is  so  much  fun; 
I  am  buying  my  trousseau,"  he  would  have 
rejoiced  with  her.  But  he  would  have  been 
trying  to  rejoice  with  her!  So  she  had  used 
all  her  woman's  wiles  to  prepare  him  for  a 
spontaneous  participation  in  her  joy. 

Not  even  when  she  took  him  into  the 
fashionable  dressmaking  establishment  where 
she  had  kept  many  appointments  through 
all  the  delightfully  hard-working  period  of 
successive  fittings,  did  he,  dense  mind  of 
masculinity!  perceive  upon  what  throbbing 
secret's  threshold  it  was  his  privilege  to 
stand.  She  was  tense  with  eagerness,  and 
his  anticipation  ran  no  farther  than  "  a  new 
gown"  —  just  that,  a  new  gown  —  when 
she  was  all  athrill  to  have  him  see  her  go 
through  that  last  rite,  the  final  fitting  of  her 
wedding-gown!  Who  but  a  woman  can 
know  the  delights  of  that  moment  in  a 
157 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

woman's  life?  None  so  nearly  as  a  lover; 
and  if  Clarke  was  very  much  the  lover 
as  he  waited,  in  the  room  bright  with  many 
mirrors,  he  was  more  the  lover  —  he  was  the 
lover  enraptured  —  when  at  last,  a  queenly 
figure  in  shimmering  silk  of  softest  gray, 
she  swept  into  the  room,  tremulously  eager 
for  praise,  blushing  like  a  daughter  of  the 
dawn. 

Clarke  gasped.  His  Louise  was  lovely, 
but  she  was  only  woman.  This  was  the 
goddess — the  queen  of  goddesses.  Sweet 
hyperbole,  not  to  be  bruised  with  blows  of 
Apology!  Clarke  arose  and  stood  feasting 
his  eyes.  Never  had  she  seemed  quite  so 
lovely.  The  modiste  had  depended  for  her 
effect  upon  the  rich  softness  of  the  material 
and  the  perfection  of  fit,  rather  than  upon 
the  lesser  art  of  trimming. 

Louise  stood  turning  slowly  round,  her 
figure  reflected  in  the  mirrors,  magically 
multiplying  unique  perfection,  and  looking 
at  the  images  with  an  expression  of  such 
innocent  self -consciousness  as  may  be  seen 
in  children  at  their  best. 

"  How  do  you  like  me  now? "  she  asked  at 
length. 

"  I  have  n't  words  to  begin  the  tale,"  said 
158 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Clarke.      "It    is   wonderful!     No   human 
being  could  look  so  lovely.    It  cannot  be!" 

"But  it  is!"  she  laughed,  "and  when  I 
put  this  on  I  shall  be  your  wife." 

With  sudden  transformation  she  ceased 
to  blaze,  and  quietly  shone.  Then,  with 
another  of  her  swift  transitions,  she  assumed 
the  air  of  a  "  practical "  person. 

'  You  see,  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  be 
married  in  this  dress  —  but  I  have  had  it 
made  so  that  it  will  do  also  for  a  travelling 
dress.  It  is  to  be  sent  to  my  apartment 
today." 

Madame,  the  chief,  who  stood  by,  had 
been  examining  the  gown  critically,  to  see 
that  her  assistants  had  left  no  flaw  in  the 
lovely  structure.  When  she  perceived  that 
the  gentleman  was  Mrs.  Willoughby's  fiance, 
she  was  in  her  turn  enraptured. 

"Oh,  la-la!"  she  cried,  "so  this  is  Mr. 
Clarke.  I  am  what  you  call  done  pr-r-roud! 
And  the  gown  —  is  it  not  lovely?  Ah,  elle 
est  vraiment  magnifique!  Such  a  pleasure 
to  fit  such  a  figure! " 

She  passed  her  hands  reverently,  lovingly, 
over  the  soft,  clinging  material.    Her  sensi- 
tive nature  thrilled  with  the  joy  of  the  artist 
displaying  his  art.     " Tres  chid"  she  ex- 
159 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

claimed,    quite    unconscious    of    audience. 
"  Elle  va  comme  un  gant.  —  Et  I'etoffe- 
c'est  superb, — elle  a  enormement  de  cachet." 

She  pronounced  her  judgments,  one  by 
one.  Then,  turning  to  Clarke,  she  said: 

"  C'  est  un  veritable  plaisir  d'habiller 
Madame." 

He  assured  her,  in  such  terms  as  his  re- 
stricted masculine  vocabulary  afforded,  of 
his  appreciation;  and  he  went  on  to  express 
as  adequately  as  he  could  the  emotions 
aroused  in  him  by  the  further  loveliness 
which  the  delighted  assistants,  Lucille  and 
Babette,  brought  forth  for  his  inspection; 
two  evening  gowns,  wonderful  creations  still 
in  intermediate  stages  of  evolution  —  and 
several  others,  which  left  him  an  impression 
that  he  could  express  no  more  definitely  than 
as  a  mass  of  filmy,  lacy  things  whose  pur- 
chase must  have  effected  the  transfer  of  a 
small  fortune. 

As  they  went  back  to  the  apartment, 
Louise  explained  that  she  had  been  making 
all  these  preparations  so  that  there  should 
be  no  delay  caused  by  the  necessities  of  her 
toilette  after  the  obstacles  in  the  way  of  their 
marriage  should  have  been  removed. 

And  now  the  floodgates  seemed  to  have 
160 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

been  opened,  and  from  all  the  shops  came 
pouring  streams  that  bore  a  treasure  on 
every  wave.  Millinery,  lingerie,  shoes, 
gloves,  came  in  packages  of  so  many  sizes 
and  shapes  that  Clarke  could  not  for  the 
life  of  him  see  how  they  were  ever  to  be 
crowded  into  the  little  apartment,  and  felt 
that  the  skill  of  all  the  geometers  in  history 
could  hardly  devise  a  way  to  fit  together 
their  polygonal  intricacies.  But  one  woman 
has  more  wits  than  a  hundred  mathema- 
ticians, and  Louise  solved  the  problem  not 
only  with  ease  but  with  a  delight  which  — 
to  Clarke,  at  least  —  proved  positively  that 
this  was  not  mere  instinct  but  sheer  inge- 
nuity. The  cubic  contents  of  these  packages, 
he  was  sure,  would  aggregate  not  an  inch 
less  than  seven  times  that  of  the  rooms ;  and 
where  then  was  your  Father  of  all  the  Ge- 
ometers, with  his  axiom  about  the  contained 
and  its  container?  Axiom,  quotha! 

This  is  all  a  part,  and  an  important  part, 
of  the  history  of  Chester  Clarke.  They  who 
cannot  read  between  the  lines  of  this  portion 
of  our  chronicle  are  not  meant  to  be  students 
of  history.  They  will  not  appreciate  the 
insignificant  item  that  follows: 

The  next  evening,  Sunday,  just  before 
161 


it  was  time  for  Clarke  to  leave  for  the  mid- 
night train  to  Boston,  Louise,  now  relaxed 
and  calm  after  the  excitements  of  Saturday, 
showed  him  a  pearl  gray  tie  and  gloves 
which  she  had  bought  for  him ;  they  matched 
the  wonderful  gown.  And  then,  with  a 
wealth  of  tender  words,  she  opened  before 
him  a  case  holding  a  very  beautiful  scarf  pin. 

"  That,"  she  said,  "  is  to  be  the  gift  of  the 
bride." 

What  wonderful  quality  is  it  in  the  light 
of  love  that  makes  it  cast  no  shadow? 


162 


CHAPTER  V 

EXTRAORDINARY  pressure  of  busi- 
ness made  it  impossible  for  Clarke  to 
get  back  to  New  York  as  soon  as  he  would 
have  liked.  He  had  been  compelled  to  miss 
a  Sunday,  and  two  weeks  can  be  very  much 
more  than  twice  as  long  as  one  week !  Again 
the  letters  flew  back  and  forth.  One  of  them 
tested  again  the  understanding  to  which  he 
thought  he  had  trained  himself  after  Louise 
had  reported  the  incident,  in  Chicago,  of 
the  railroad  president  who  had  followed  his 
box  of  flowers  with  an  offer  of  marriage. 

On  one  of  his  earlier  visits  to  the  apart- 
ment, he  had  chanced  to  meet  an  old  friend 
of  his,  an  army  officer,  veteran  of  many 
campaigns,  but  coming  out  of  his  sixties  re- 
markably hale  and  hearty.  Clarke  had  taken 
him  to  the  apartment  to  tea,  and  he  had 
been  pleased  by  the  old  soldier's  open  ad- 
miration of  his  hostess.  Louise  had  presided 
charmingly  at  the  tea  table,  and  had  been 
most  gracious  to  the  visitor. 
163 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

On  the  Sunday  of  Clarke's  absence,  she 
had  had  the  General  to  dine  with  her,  and 
on  Tuesday  she  had  let  him  take  her  to  the 
theatre. 

"It  was  so  dull  without  you,"  she  said; 
"and  besides,  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  be 
able  to  entertain  an  old  friend  of  yours.  But 
I  was  rather  surprised  when  he  held  my  hand 
during  the  performance,  and  also  when  he 
kissed  me  goodbye  at  my  door,  though 
several  of  the  people  in  the  house  happened 
to  be  passing  at  the  moment.  I  suppose  it 
was  just  his  fatherly  way  of  setting  the 
stamp  of  his  approval  on  me." 

Clarke  did  not  indorse  such  approval,  but 
he  refused  to  let  his  mind  dwell  on  it. 

Then  on  Friday,  came  a  letter  announcing 
that  she  had  found  the  apartment  too  dull, 
and  had  moved  to  a  hotel;  "a  thoroughly 
high-class  place,  where  I  shall  see  more  peo- 
ple and  life  will  be  a  little  less  dreary." 

So  Clarke  decided  that  his  most  important 
business  for  the  next  few  days  lay  in  New 
York.  He  called  at  the  hotel  early  Satur- 
day afternoon,  and  they  had  a  long  talk. 
Without  excitement,  or  resentment,  she  told 
him  that  the  true  cause  of  her  latest  move  had 
been  an  uneasiness  resulting  from  a  remark 
164 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY" 

overheard  between  two  of  the  servants. 
"  Never  mind  what  it  was,"  she  said;  "  it  did 
not  amount  to  anything,  and  I  suppose  they 
are  talking  that  way  all  the  time.  What 
really  bothered  me  more  than  the  words, 
the  only  thing  that  made  me  pay  any  atten- 
tion at  all,  was  their  evident  embarrassment 
when  they  realized  that  I  had  heard.  In 
fact,  dear,  I  only  half  heard.  But  the  in- 
cident, small  as  it  was,  annoyed  me  just 
enough  to  make  me  restless.  Is  n't  it  odd, 
that  among  all  these  crowds,  two  people 
should  become  the  subjects  of  servants' 
gossip  ? " 

"  It  is  irritating,"  said  Clarke.  "  It  is  as 
though,  just  as  soon  as  two  people  wanted  to 
be  alone,  somebody  conspired  deliberately 
to  make  life  miserable  for  them." 

Sunday  they  took  a  trip  to  the  Jersey 
Shore.  Clarke  made  the  best  of  the  rather 
severely  limited  opportunities  afforded  by 
the  outing  for  those  demonstrations  of  affec- 
tion he  craved  as  naturally  as  a  hungry  man 
craves  food.  Returning,  he  left  her  at  the 
elevator,  and  went  to  another  hotel  for  the 
night.  He  was  walking,  now,  as  circum- 
spectly as  a  man  could  walk. 

But  the  winds  of  trouble  had  not  ceased 
165 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

to  blow.  Where  there  had  been  no  more 
than  a  breeze,  the  gale  now  leaped  to  life. 

Monday  morning  Clarke  spent  downtown, 
on  business. 

In  the  middle  part  of  the  afternoon, 
through  with  business  for  that  day,  he  went 
to  the  hotel,  and  sent  up  his  card.  The  mes- 
senger brought  back  a  sealed  note. 

"  No  answer,"  said  Clarke,  shortly,  and  the 
boy  walked  away. 

Clarke,  off  in  a  corner  of  the  big  room, 
tore  open  the  note  and  read  it  hastily. 

"  Dear  one,"  she  said,  "  I  cannot  come 
down  to  see  you.  Something  has  happened. 
Oh,  please,  come  to  me!  —  L.  W." 

Flinging  to  the  winds  his  good  resolutions, 
heeding  nothing  except  that  she  had  sum- 
moned him,  Clarke  went  up  to  her  rooms. 

She  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  evidently  much  agitated.  She  was 
paler  than  he  had  ever  seen  her. 

"My  dear  girl!"  he  cried,  "what  has 
happened?" 

She  seemed  to  gain  immediate  assurance 
from  his  presence.  She  grew  calmer  in  man- 
ner, and  her  voice  sounded  quite  natural  as 
she  said: 

"Don't  be  frightened,  Chester!  Nothing 
166 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

has  happened  to  me — "  But  the  agitation 
shown  in  her  note  had  been  too  genuine  to 
disappear  so  suddenly  and  it  was  revealed  in 
her  voice.  There  was  a  suggestion  of  tears. 

"  Louise,"  he  said,  and  he  took  her  in  his 
arms.  "  Tell  me,  what  has  frightened  you?  " 

"It  isn't  that  I  am  frightened — it  is 
rather  that  I  am  worried  —  anxious.  This 
is  what  happened.  It  may  be  much,  it  may 
be  little  —  but  it  startled  me. 

"  I  went  out  for  some  violets  at  the  flower 
store  on  the  corner,  and  when  I  came  back, 
just  as  I  stood  waiting  for  the  elevator,  I 
caught  sight,  in  the  lobby,  of  that  man! " 

"Whatman?" 

"John  Sharp!" 

Clarke  was  surprised. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"  Why,  how  could  I  possibly  be  mistaken? 
I  saw  him  as  plain  as  I  see  you  now." 

"But  there  must  be,  in  this  big  town,  a 
dozen  men  who  look  like  Sharp  —  enough 
so,  at  least,  to  be  mistaken  for  him  in  a  pass- 
ing glimpse  like  that." 

"But  I  tell  you,  I  was  not  mistaken!    I 

know  John  Sharp  too  well  to  be  mistaken. 

I  felt  him  as  well  as  saw  him  —  I  could  feel 

his  presence  if  he  stood  at  the  other  side  of 

167 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

a  great  crowd  from  me.  And,  if  it  had  been 
someone  else  he  would  not  have  leered.  I 
saw  him  leer.  He  was  looking  straight  my 
way." 

The  cumulative  argument  could  not  be 
overborne. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Clarke,  "taking  the 
worst  possible  view  of  it,  John  Sharp  is  in 
New  York — he  was  in  this  hotel  today  — 
and  he  saw  you.  Now,  supposing  all  that 
to  be  true,  what  harm  is  there  in  it? " 

"Oh,  Chester,  I  cannot  say  what  —  but 
there  is  harm  in  everything  that  man  does. 
There  is  harm  in  his  ascertaining  anything 
that  might  make  him  suspect  that  we  are 
engaged.  —  Oh,  he  may  be  stopping  in  this 
very  house!  I  must  move — we  must  move 
at  once.  I  have  been  packing,  ever  since, 
and  am  ready  to  go  this  minute,  dear." 

Clarke  had  never  seen  her  so  disturbed. 
He  tried  to  soothe  her. 

"I  will  go  down  to  the  office,  at  once, 
and  see  if  Sharp  is  registered  here,"  he 
volunteered. 

"  No,"  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  no!    It  would 

do  no  good.    If  he  has  been  here  once,  he  is 

likely  to  come  again  whether  he  is  a  regular 

guest  here  or  not.     I  should  be  afraid  of 

168 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

running  into  him  every  time  I  left  my 
rooms." 

Clarke  saw  the  force  of  this.  He  himself 
would  prefer  not  to  have  an  encounter  with 
John  Sharp.  He  was  silent,  thinking. 

Louise  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  There  is  nothing  else  to  do,"  she  said. 
"  We  must  get  out  of  this  place,  and  at  once. 
You  will  go  somewhere  else,  for  my  sake, 
won't  you,  dear  —  and  for  the  children's 
sake!" 

She  spoke  the  last  words,  not  pleadingly, 
but  with  an  air  of  finality,  as  though  she 
knew  he  could  not  resist  after  that. 

And  he  could  not.  He  was  more  worried 
than  he  would  have  been  willing  to  have 
her  know.  The  position  in  which  they  were 
placed  had  been  brought  about  by  conditions 
which  he  not  only  had  not  sought,  but  which 
he  had  accepted  against  the  force  of  his  own 
positive  convictions.  As  he  had  accepted  the 
secret  engagement,  so  too  had  he  accepted, 
without  reservation  or  qualification,  the 
necessity  of  these  clandestine  meetings.  It 
was  all  of  a  piece. 

She  had  never  appeared  conscious  that 
their  relations,  pure  and  honorable  as  they 
were,  could  be  criticized  or  misjudged  or 
169 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

misunderstood.  "  A  woman  of  so  much  ex- 
perience?" the  world  might  say,  and  shrug. 
But  he  knew!  It  was  only  Sharp's  appear- 
ance that  had  excited  her.  She  had  gone 
instantly  to  the  core  of  the  situation.  If 
Sharp  should  learn  of  her  engagement,  he 
would  take  it  straight  to  the  old  lady,  and 
she  would  never  let  a  penny  pass  to  her 
grandchildren,  owning  a  new  father  in  place 
of  her  idolized  son.  The  children  did  not 
need  the  money.  Mr.  Malsby  would  leave 
his  lesser  but  still  substantial  fortune  to 
Louise,  and  he,  Clarke,  could  himself  make 
them  comfortable.  But  they  must  not  suffer 
injustice  at  the  hands  of  this  scheming  fel- 
low, Sharp. 

As  to  his  own  relations  with  Louise,  he 
knew  that  her  honor  could  not  be  safer  any- 
where than  with  him;  but  what  a  twisting 
thrust  of  life's  irony-tipped  spearhead,  that 
he,  in  whose  safe-keeping  she  was  best  off, 
should  be  made  by  a  cruel  world  the  very 
instrument  of  possible  misfortune  to  her! 

From  his  own  selfishly  personal  point  of 
view,  this  constant  running  away,  this  dodg- 
ing, this  duplicity,  was  abhorrent. 

It  took  only  a  moment  to  marshal  these 
considerations  in  his  mind. 
170 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  Where  shall  we  go? "  he  said.  "  If  you 
hadn't  pleaded  the  children's  interest,  I 
should  much  prefer  to  stay  right  here. 
Probably  we  have  seen  the  last  of  Sharp; 
but  if  not,  we  can  stand  a  showdown  with 
him.  We  have  nothing  to  fear.  If  he  ever 
said  a  derogatory  word  about  you,  I  'd 
thrash  him." 

"  I  know.  But  all  other  considerations 
vanish  before  the  children's  interest.  For 
their  sake,  you  will  do  what  I  ask! " 

"Very  well!  You  know  that  with  me 
that  means  for  your  sake.  But  where  — 
where  —  where?  Do  you  happen  to  know," 
he  asked,  turning  half  whimsical,  "of  any 
retreat  where  the  wicked  cease  from  trou- 
bling and  the  weary  are  at  rest?  If  you  do, 
I  '11  wager  it  is  not  in  New  York! " 

" Oh,  but  it  is! "  she  cried;  " it  really  is! " 

She  had  been  thinking  hard,  and  had  ap- 
parently viewed  her  way  clear  at  last  through 
the  difficulty. 

"At  least,"  she  amended,  "there  is  a 
pretty  good  chance  of  our  finding  it  here. 
Please,  dear,  hand  me  the  telephone  book!" 

Radiant  with  hopefulness,  she  sought  out 
the  number  of  their  paradise. 


171 


CHAPTER  VI 

LOUISE  turned  the  pages  of  the  tele- 
phone book  a  moment,  then,  with  a 
little  cry  of  pleasure,  she  looked  up. 

"I  have  found  it!"  she  said.  "'Hans 
Giese,  Violins.*  How  it  does  bring  back  old 
times  to  see  that  name  once  more!" 

"  But  who  is  this  Hans? " 

"Why,  of  course — you  never  heard  of 
the  old  darling,  did  you?  It  seems  as  if  we 
must  always  have  known  the  same  people, 
doesn't  it,  dear?" 

'Yes — until  someone  like  this  crops  up. 
Hans  was  —  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  dealer  in  violins.  He  sold  me 
one  when  I  was  studying  in  New  York.  I 
had  a  fine  friendship  with  old  Hans  and  his 
wife.  I  used  often  to  visit  with  them.  He 
was  a  Belgian.  He  played  beautifully — 
had  a  wonderful  method  of  bowing — he 
gave  me  some  excellent  points.  They  were 
devoted  to  me.  That  was  quite  a  few  years 
ago.  I  wonder  if  they  are  both  still  living. 
Let 's  call  them  up." 

172 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

She  took  the  phone,  and  Clarke  stood  with 
his  head  resting  lightly  against  hers  in  order 
to  hear  the  whole  conversation. 

A  woman's  voice  came  over  the  wire;  an 
old  and  feeble  voice. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Louise. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Giese." 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Giese!  Do 
you  know  me,  do  you  recognize  my  voice? 
I  am  Louise  Malsby.  Do  you  remember 
me?" 

"Why,  my  dear  child!  Of  course  I  re- 
member you.  Where  are  you?  How  kind 
of  you  to  think  of  me,  such  an  old  woman  as 
I  am  now." 

"  I  am  not  Miss  Malsby  any  more,  Mrs. 
Giese,  I  am  Mrs.  Willoughby  now." 

"Well,  well!  How  everything  does 
change." 

"  And  how  is  Mr.  Giese? " 

"  Oh,  he  is  dead.  He  died  five  or  six  years 
ago,  but  I  still  keep  the  name  board  by  the 
door.  People  who  have  been  away  from 
town  often  come  in,  and  ask  to  see  Hans." 

"Then  you  are  all  alone?" 

'Yes,  all  alone  —  with  the  old  fiddles. 
There  is  not  another  soul  here  in  this  apart- 
ment. It  is  just  as  it  was  when  you  were 
173 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

here,  just  as  it  was  when  he  died.  I've 
always  kept  everything  just  the  same." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Giese,  I  wanted  to  ask  a 
favor.  I  wanted  to  ask  if  you  could  take  me 
in  for — oh,  perhaps  a  few  days  —  and  a 
friend  who  is  here  with  me,  a  gentleman. 
I  have  a  special  reason  for  asking  it." 

Mrs.  Giese  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I  haven't  any  help, 
there  isn't  anyone  to  do  for  you;  there 
is  almost  nothing  to  eat  —  the  beds,  they 
haven't  been  made  for  years.  It  is  all  the 
same  —  just  the  same  as  it  was  when  he 
died.  I  wanted  to  keep  everything  just  as 
my  Hans  left  it." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  old  friend!  If  you  're  will- 
ing to  take  us  in,  all  that  won't  make  a  bit 
of  difference  to  us ! " 

"When  would  you  want  to  come?" 

"  Right  away,  Mrs.  Giese.  We  would  be 
there  in  half  an  hour  or  so." 

A  moment's  silence,  then  the  old  lady  said : 

"Well,  I  suppose  he  would!  He  was 
very  fond  of  you.  And  you  can  see  his 
things  just  as  they  are.  I  never  changed 
anything,  they  are  all  just  as  they  were 
when  he  died  —  just  the  same." 

She  spoke  in  a  monotone,  as  though  the 
174 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

words  might  have  been  running  in  her  mind 
through  the  years,  ever  since  she  had  first 
taken  the  well-kept  resolve  to  have  "the 
things  "  remain  "just  as  they  were,  just  the 
same." 

"All  right,  then,"  said  Louise;  "we'll  be 
with  you  in  a  little  while,"  and  she  hung  up 
the  receiver. 

"  Now  for  a  four-wheeler,"  said  Clarke, 
"  and  let 's  get  out  of  here." 

"  But,  dear!  we  can't  carry  all  this  luggage 
in  one  cab ! " 

"Well,  then,"  said  Clarke,  "two!  Any- 
thing, to  get  moving." 

And  two  cabs  it  was. 

"The  retreat  from  Moscow,"  he  said; 
"only,  Napoleon  didn't  bother  with  lug- 
gage, while  we  have  impedimenta  enough  for 
an  army." 

She  smiled  brightly  up  into  his  face,  and 
placed  a  hand  affectionately  on  his  arm. 
Her  anxiety  seemed  to  have  vanished  the 
moment  they  left  the  hotel.  She  seemed  as 
happy  as  a  child  on  a  holiday. 

They  drew  up  in  front  of  what,  from  its 
looks,  must  have  been  one  of  the  oldest  of 
Gotham's  cave  dwellings. 

"This  must  be  the  original  apartment 
175 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

house  of  them  all,"  Clarke  remarked,  good- 
naturedly. 

"It  was  here  before  people  spoke  of 
apartment  houses,  dear,"  she  said.  "  It 's 
what  they  call  in  New  York  a  flat  house." 

On  a  small  board  beside  the  window  in 
the  first  floor,  over  the  basement,  were  the 
remains  of  some  lettering  that  once  had 
shone  resplendent  in  fresh  gilt  paint.  From 
the  parts  of  the  letters  that  remained,  Clarke 
could  decipher  the  inscription: 

HANS   GIESE 

Violins 

Bought,  Sold,  and 
Repaired 

"  How  familiar  it  all  looks,"  said  Louise. 
"  Only  a  little  more  decayed,  a  little  dingier. 
I  used  to  come  here  quite  often.  They  were 
such  quaint,  nice  people.  They  fascinated 
me,  and  they  liked  me.  It  was  a  pleasure 
to  give  them  pleasure,  they  appreciated 
every  little  kindness  so  thoroughly." 

Mrs.  Giese  opened  the  door  and  ushered 

them  in.    She  was  all  aquiver ;  partly,  Clarke 

guessed,  from  embarrassment  but  more  with 

excitement  at  seeing  once  again  her  "dear 

176 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Miss  Louise,"  of  whom  she  was  evidently 
fond,  with  a  fluttery,  grandmotherly  sort  of 
affection.  "  Fluttery "  seemed  the  right 
word,  for  the  little  old  lady  was  birdlike  in 
the  way  she  held  her  head  and  the  way  her 
eyes  were  cocked  at  one  when  she  spoke. 
Sometimes,  too,  she  twittered;  rather  more 
like  a  shrill  voiced  sparrow  than  a  songbird, 
but  never  with  bad  humor.  There  was  some- 
thing pathetic  in  the  appearance  of  her 
shrivelled  old  face.  She  had  been  living 
alone  since  Hans  died,  living  in  memory  of 
him.  A  grotesque  fancy  struck  Clarke  that 
she  was  Giese's  monument;  a  monument 
animated  just  enough  to  attend  to  the  one 
duty  of  "  keeping  the  things  the  same  —  just 
the  same." 

"  Come  in,  Mrs.  Willoughby,"  she  said. 
"  Come  right  in,  Mr.  Willoughby." 

This  might  have  been  embarrassing;  but 
the  lovers  did  not  permit  it. 

"This  is  Mr.  Clarke,  Mrs.  Giese,"  said 
Louise. 

"Dear  me  —  I  do  beg  your  pardon.  But 
I  thought  you  said  your  name  was  Mrs. 
Willoughby,  Miss  Malsby." 

'Yes,  it  is.    My  husband,  too,  died;  and 
this  is  Mr.  Clarke?' 

177 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

The  old  lady's  mind  was  not  alert  enough 
to  grapple  with  problems;  she  simply  ac- 
cepted facts.  Whatever  her  dear  Miss 
Malsby,  or  Mrs.  Willoughby,  told  her,  was 
surely  a  fact,  so  this  gentleman  must  be  Mr. 
Clarke.  It  was  a  little  strange,  but  she  did 
not  stop  to  puzzle  it  out.  Mrs.  Willough- 
by's  Mr.  Clarke  was  not  to  be  challenged 
by  her.  So,  while  Clarke  carried  in  the 
luggage  —  the  driver,  in  consideration  of  a 
generous  tip,  helping  with  the  heavier  pieces 
—  she  stood  chatting  with  Louise.  When  all 
the  boxes  and  bundles  had  been  brought  in, 
she  showed  her  guests  the  rooms.  And  what 
rooms ! 

The  apartment,  or  "flat,"  cut  straight 
through  the  house  from  front  to  rear.  Only 
the  parlor  at  the  front  and  the  kitchen  and 
dining  room  at  the  back  had  outside  win- 
dows. The  bedrooms  were  hall  rooms,  dark 
and  dismal. 

The  front  room  was  large,  and  had  been 
turned  into  a  veritable  curio  shop.  Here 
were  relics  of  foreign  antiquity;  cabinets, 
images,  pictures,  statuettes,  books,  all  in 
promiscuous  disorder.  In  every  corner  two 
or  three  violins  were  stacked.  There  was 
the  musty  smell  of  old  leather,  and  the  less 
178 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

pleasant  odor  of  dank  walls  in  an  unaired 
room.  If  the  spirit  of  Hans  Giese  dwelt 
here,  Clarke  thought,  among  the  possessions 
he  had  prized,  it  must  be  a  gloomy  spirit. 
Yet  in  the  dim  light  that  filtered  through 
the  shaded  windows,  with  something  like  the 
softness  of  the  subdued  illumination  of  a 
cathedral  nave,  the  old  objects  of  virtu  took 
on  a  certain  air  of  dignity,  rather  enhanced 
than  diminished  by  their  jackets  of  dust. 

"  Now,"  said  Mrs.  Giese,  "  the  next  room 
is  mine,  and  the  next  two  shall  be  yours." 

"Come,  Chester,"  said  Louise,  "let's 
move  in !  I  '11  take  the  room  next  to  Mrs. 
Giese's  and  you  shall  have  the  other." 

"And  as  soon  as  we're  settled,"  said 
Clarke,  "I  mean  to  take  you  both  out  to 
dinner." 

"  She  looks  as  though  she  might  not  have 
had  a  good  square  meal  since  Hans  died," 
he  said  to  Louise,  when  they  were  alone  for 
a  moment. 

"  The  poor  old  dear ! "  Louise's  eyes  were 
bright  as  though  a  swiftly  passing  tear  had 
filmed  them. 

"  I  suppose  she 's  been  too  busy  keeping 
things  'just  the  same'  to  think  about  eat- 
ing. Did  you  notice  the  marks  in  the  dust 
179 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

on  the  telephone?  I  don't  suppose  she  has 
two  calls  a  year." 

So  they  took  the  old  lady  out  to  dinner, 
and  it  was  good  to  see  her  respond  to  the 
stimulus  of  changed  surroundings.  To 
Clarke  it  had  seemed  almost  incredible  that 
a  human  being  could  settle  down  to  so  me- 
chanical a  routine  of  existence.  It  reassured 
him  pleasantly,  to  see  her  perk  up,  once  they 
got  her  into  the  brilliant  dining  room.  But 
she  soon  tired  of  the  lights  and  the  confused 
sounds,  and  while  she  thanked  them  rather 
prettily  for  their  kindness,  it  was  plain 
enough  that  she  was  glad  to  be  home  again 
— keeping  things  just  the  same. 

The  two  women  made  up  the  beds.  Mrs. 
Giese  retired,  and  Louise  came  into  the 
parlor,  where  Clarke  had  made  himself  as 
comfortable  as  he  could,  and  was  enjoying 
a  cigar. 

He  had  been  thinking,  and  as  soon  as 
Louise  came  in,  he  said: 

"  My  dear  girl,  this  is  impossible  —  simply 
impossible!  We  cannot  stay  in  such  an  old 
rat  hole  as  this.  Why,  there  aren't  even  the 
necessaries,  to  say  nothing  of  the  comforts 
of  life.  This  mouldy  old  place  isn't  fit  to 
live  in — the  old  fashioned  closed  plumbing 
180 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

is  a  positive  menace  to  health:  why,  I  can 
almost  see  malaria  germs  crawling  on  the 
walls,  and  if  you  listen,  you  '11  hear  the  foot- 
falls of  Old  Man  Roomatiz.  Seriously,  dear, 
this  isn't  right  —  it  won't  do  at  all." 

"  I  think  it 's  funny,"  said  Louise.  "  I 
don't  think  I  could  stand  it  long,  myself, 
but  for  a  while,  it 's  larks.  And  there 's  one 
good  thing  about  it,  you  must  admit,  that 
makes  up  for  a  lot  of  the  discomforts  — 
John  Sharp  won't  come  here!" 

That  allusion  opened  the  way  out  for  the 
thoughts  that  had  been  accumulating,  and 
Clarke  let  them  come. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "  our  situation  is 
simply  impossible.  I  am  shunning  my 
friends,  and  living  in  dread  of  exposing  you 
to  criticism.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  hav- 
ing you  compromised,  as  they  call  it ;  and  I 
could  not  live  —  I  could  only  exist,  with  no 
reason  for  even  existing,  away  from  you. 
It  is  my  place  to  protect  you,  dear  —  not  to 
endanger  your  reputation!" 

He  rose,  and  paced  the  floor. 

"  Now,  Louise,"  he  went  on,  "  let 's  have 

it  out,  once  for  all!    We  have  begun  with  a 

secret  engagement  —  why  not  go  just  one 

little   step    further,   and  make  it  a   secret 

181 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

marriage?  I  don't  like  secret  marriages 
much  more  than  I  do  secret  engagements  - 
but  it  will  at  least  make  us  more  comfortable. 
We  can  announce  it  just  as  soon  as  the  will 
is  signed.  It  is  only  changing  the  date,  an- 
ticipating what  we  are  already  committed 
to.  It  will  put  me  in  my  proper  place  as 
your  protector,  and  it  will  not  affect  the 
interests  of  the  children." 

He  stopped  pacing,  turned  squarely 
toward  her,  and  said,  with  an  air  of  deter- 
mination that  halted  just  short  of  des- 
peration : 

"  Louise,  will  you  marry  me  now,  and  put 
an  end  to  all  this  needless  anxiety?" 

Smiling  softly,  she  too  stood  up,  and 
moving  over  to  where  he  stood  waiting,  she 
placed  a  hand  on  each  of  his  square  shoul- 
ders and  said,  with  the  sweet  serenity  of  a 
June  day: 

"  My  dear,  I  did  not  dream  you  were  so 
seriously  concerned  about  this.  You  never 
said  a  word,  never  gave  a  sign  of  it.  I  could 
not  let  you  be  unhappy,  if  it  were  in  my 
power  to  make  you  happy  —  I  love  you  too 
much  for  that!  Of  course  I  '11  agree  to  the 
secret  marriage.  I  'm  wholly  in  favor  of  it, 
I  think  it  would  be  the  happiest  sort  of  a 
182 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

solution.  And,"  she  finished,  rippling  with 
smiles,  "  I  am  so  anxious  to  wear  that  beau- 
tiful wedding  gown! " 

'You  dear  girl,"  Clarke  cried;  and  they 
sealed  the  bargain  with  a  kiss,  in  the  only 
fashion  fit  for  such  a  contract. 


183 


CHAPTER  VH 

LARKE  had  urged  his  argument  with 
all  the  earnestness  of  a  man  battling 
for  his  life.  He  had  supposed  it  necessary 
to  batter  down  the  walls  of  a  resisting  will ; 
at  least,  in  gentler  terms,  it  had  seemed  a 
matter  of  course  that  he  would  have  to 
answer,  one  by  one,  all  the  arguments  con- 
trary to  his  that  a  woman's  wit  could  mus- 
ter. He  had  been  ready  for  a  long,  and 
possibly  even  painful  debate.  But  he  had 
thought  the  thing  out,  he  had  arrived  at  the 
one  conclusion  that  seemed  to  him  inevitable; 
and  he  meant  to  have  his  way,  for  he  knew  it 
to  be  the  best  way,  for  her  as  well  as  for 
himself. 

And  then,  she  had  calmly  ignored  his 
carefully  thought  out  and  well  presented 
arguments;  had  gone  straight  to  the  core 
of  the  matter,  and,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation  over  details,  had  settled  the  whole 
thing  in  a  word.  And  how  sweet  a  word! 

Her  quick,  favorable  and  affectionate 
response  had  cleared  the  clouds  away.  It 
might  have  made  him,  the  powerful  pleader, 
184 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

feel  rather  foolish,  like  a  general  of  artillery 
who  has  been  pounding  at  a  dummy  battery, 
had  not  joy  over  the  successful  issue  of  his 
attempt  wiped  out  all  lesser  emotions. 

And  her  reply  had  given  him  another 
revelation  of  her  character.  It  was  a  jewel 
of  many  facets.  In  none  of  them  had  he 
ever  detected  a  flaw.  She  was  consistently 
inconsistent,  but  in  every  phase  delightful. 
The  emotion  of  the  moment  was  her  supreme 
guide;  but  fortunately  her  education,  her 
experience,  with  the  firm  depths  of  her 
character  to  base  them,  gave  her  a  constancy 
not  the  less  charming  because  of  the  chang- 
ing surfaces  she  showed. 

Specifically,  Clarke  thought  that  her  ac- 
ceptance of  his  proposal  evidenced  a  breadth 
of  understanding  and  a  depth  of  feeling 
which  would  lead  her  always  to  brush  aside 
or  ignore  technicalities.  The  whole  thing 
stood  foursquare  and  immovable  upon  the 
broad  and  solid  foundation  of  their  mutual 
confidence  and  love. 

The  reaction  in  him  had  been  instan- 
taneous. His  misgivings  had  disappeared. 
The  promptings  of  his  heart  had  supplanted 
the  promptings  of  his  mind.  He  was  a  very 
happy  man.  And  he  had  told  her,  drawing 
185 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

her  to  him,  "  you  are  the  dearest  and  best  of 
women.  You  are  the  most  wonderful  thing 
that  ever  happened." 

Then  she  had  asked  for  his  plan  in  detail, 
and  he  had  been  ready  with  his  answer: 

He  would  wire  to  his  office  in  Boston, 
saying  that  he  would  not  be  home  for  a 
week  or  ten  days.  They  would  convert  the 
Old  Curiosity  Shop  into  a  chapel,  and  there 
they  would  exchange  their  vows,  and  go 
forth  man  and  wife.  They  would  have 
their  wedding  breakfast,  and  then  the  honey- 
moon. 

"Does  my  plan  meet  with  your  ap- 
proval?" he  had  asked. 

"  Perfectly,"  she  had  answered;  and  then, 
"of  what  will  our  wedding  ceremony  con- 
sist?" she  had  asked.  "Does  it  call  for  a 
rehearsal?" 

"  No,"  he  had  answered.  "  I  will  tell  you 
what  to  say  when  the  time  comes,  if  you 
need  any  more  prompting  than  your  own 
heart  gives.  I  am  to  take  you  as  my  wedded 
wife,  and  you  are  to  take  me  as  your  wedded 
husband,  for  better  or  for  worse  till  death 
do  us  part ;  and  I  am  to  give  you  a  ring  as  a 
token  of  our  union.  We  shall  be  married  in 
the  sight  of  God  and  man  as  surely  as  if  we 
186 


met  at  the  altar  and  had  a  priest  perform 
his  office,  and  then  marched  down  the  broad 
aisle  to  Mendelssohn's  music.  The  audience, 
no  doubt,  will  shower  us  with  congratula- 
tions, roses  and  rice." 

"The  audience?" 

"Mrs.  Giese!" 

"The  poor  old  thing,  what  will  she 
think?" 

"Think!  Why,  she  will  be  greatly  flat- 
tered to  think  that  she  has  been  the  guest  of 
honor  at  so  brilliant  a  function.  The  only 
question  is,  Can  she  be  depended  upon  to 
keep  the  secret  for  a  few  weeks  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,  dear.    And  then  —  " 

"  And  then  we  shall  have  the  public  cere- 
mony. Do  you  suppose  I  would  plan  to 
rob  you  of  that  one  greatest  hour  in  a 
woman's  life?  No,  dear  —  I  could  not  be 
so  heartless ! " 

"  Father  is  looking  forward  to  that,  too. 
And  you  need  not  worry  about  Mrs.  Giese's 
keeping  the  secret.  She  is  devoted  to  me. 
You  saw  how  she  clung  to  me  tonight.  I 
think  she  would  give  up  her  soul  for  my 
sake  if  I  asked  her  to.  Besides,  what  op- 
portunity has  she  to  tell  anyone?  The  poor 
dear  does  n't  see  anyone,  from  year's  end  to 
187 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

year's  end,  but  the  tradespeople  who  supply 
her  little  wants." 

Their  plans  all  made  for  the  morrow  — 
the  momentous  morrow — they  had  parted. 

And  so  now,  as  Chester  Clarke  awoke,  his 
first  thought  was  that  the  Holy  Day  had 
come.  He  stood  upon  the  highest  peak  of 
his  life.  This  day  his  eager  soul  was  to 
claim  its  mate.  Among  the  numberless 
atoms  of  humanity,  these  two  had  been 
brought  together  to  answer  some  new  pur- 
pose in  the  universal  scheme.  Joy  and  re- 
sponsibility ripened  together.  The  boughs 
of  his  tree  of  happiness  hung  heavy  with 
fruit,  ripe  for  the  plucking.  He  was  happy, 
ineffably  happy;  and  he  rejoiced  in  the  sense 
of  solemnity  that  seemed  hovering  about 
him,  for  the  ceremony  would  be  truly  a 
sacrament  in  the  sight  of  God. 

Before  the  others  were  astir,  he  visited  a 
neighboring  florist's  and  returned  with  a 
great  box  of  flowers.  There  were  red  roses 
to  stand  in  the  vases,  and  cream  white  buds 
to  be  carried  by  the  bride. 

After  a  light  breakfast,  he  hurried  down 

town,    bought   railroad   tickets,    wired    for 

rooms  at  an  inn  in  the  Catskills  where  he 

had  planned  their  sojourn,  and  bought  the 

188 


wedding  ring,  a  circle  of  gold  studded  with 
diamonds. 

Hurrying  back  to  the  apartment,  he  found 
that  Louise  had,  with  deft  touches,  trans- 
formed the  musty  old  front  room  into  the 
satisfying  semblance  of  a  chapel.  Mrs. 
Giese  had  given  proof  of  her  affection  by 
permitting  the  more  obtrusive  pieces  of 
furniture  to  be  temporarily  moved  out. 
With  the  help  of  certain  draperies  cleverly 
placed,  the  upright  piano  at  one  end  of  the 
room  had  become  an  altar.  Two  candles 
burned  upon  it.  In  front  of  it  Louise  had 
set  a  small  stand,  supporting  a  Bible.  The 
flowers  had  been  placed  with  fine  artistic 
skill.  All  was  ready,  and  Louise  had  gone 
to  her  room  to  dress.  The  hour  drew  near. 

To  Clarke,  as  he  changed  his  clothes,  the 
putting  on  of  the  tie,  pin  and  gloves  that  she 
had  given  him  was  in  itself  a  ceremony. 

As  the  old  clock  in  the  hall  struck  twelve, 
Louise  came  from  her  room,  looking  lovely 
beyond  words  in  the  gray  gown,  and  a  hat 
also  of  gray. 

With  her  came  Mrs.  Giese,  wearing  a 

marvellous  dress  made  in  the  fashion  of  a 

bygone   generation  —  a   wine   colored   silk, 

with  a  broad  collar  of  old  lace,  rich  and  rare 

189 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

enough  to  be  esteemed  a  prize  by  any  lady 
in  the  land.  She  was  all  in  a  flutter  with 
excitement,  but  too  deeply  impressed  with 
the  importance  of  the  occasion  to  relax  one 
iota  the  rigid  self-control  to  which  she  had 
committed  herself. 

And  so,  the  final  step  was  to  be  taken. 
The  room  was  very  quiet.  In  the  dim  light, 
unmarked  presences  seemed  hovering  near, 
as  Clarke,  taking  Louise  by  the  hand,  es- 
corted her  to  the  altar,  where  they  faced 
about  and  stood  side  by  side. 

Placing  one  hand  on  the  Bible,  he  said,  in 
clear,  vibrant  tones : 

"Louise,  I  take  you  to  be  my  wedded 
wife,  to  love,  cherish  and  protect.  And,  in 
token  of  our  union,  I  give  you  this  ring," 
and  he  slipped  the  ring  upon  her  finger. 

Then  she  in  turn,  placing  her  hand  upon 
the  Bible  as  he  had  done,  said,  with  accents 
wonderfully  low  but  sweet  and  clear  as  a 
note  from  one  of  old  Hans's  beloved  in- 
struments : 

"  Chester,  I  take  you  to  be  my  husband, 
to  love  and  to  serve.  And  I  accept  your 
ring  in  token  of  our  union." 

Then  she  whispered :  "  May  I  repeat  the 
Lord's  Prayer?"  and  so,  standing  hand 
190 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

in   hand,   they   repeated  the   noble   words 
together. 

Clarke,  placing  his  two  hands  on  either 
side  of  her  head,  kissed  her  on  the  forehead ; 
and  it  was  over. 

Mrs.  Giese  smothered  them  with  her  con- 
gratulations, and  with  much  joy  and  laugh- 
ter they  entered  the  waiting  carriage,  and 
were  borne  away  to  the  j  oiliest  little  wedding 
breakfast  that  ever  was. 

Afterward,  as  they  stood  waiting  for  the 
carriage  in  which  they  were  to  ride  to  the 
station,  they  appeared  so  well  set  up,  so 
well  groomed,  so  prosperous  and  happy, 
that  not  a  few  of  the  passersby  turned  for  a 
second  glance;  and  one  was  overheard  to 
say  to  a  companion:  "Look!  Isn't  that  a 
stunning  couple!" 

"They  are  looking  at  you,  dear,"  said 
Clarke,  proudly. 

"  It  was  your  compliment  as  much  as 
mine,"  she  insisted,  laughing  and  blushing 
like  a  schoolgirl. 

"  It  was  for  both  of  us,"  he  said  with  a 
tone  of  finality:  "  for  are  not  we  twain  one, 
now  and  evermore,  before  God  and  man?" 

And  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  masculine 
satisfaction. 

191 


CHAPTER 

LARKE  had  selected  for  their  autumn 
honeymoon  the  White  Horse  Inn,  a 
famous  hotel  in  the  Cat  skills,  much  pat- 
ronized at  that  season  of  the  year.  It  was 
with  quiet  elation  that,  for  the  first  time, 
he  signed  the  register:  "Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Chester  Clarke."  There  was  something 
sacramental  in  the  prosaic  act,  a  jewel  of  a 
great  moment  in  the  plainest  of  settings. 

Hard  by  the  hotel  stood  the  Episcopal 
Church,  built  in  memory  of  a  soldier  of  the 
Revolution.  There  they  went  the  next 
morning.  It  was  Communion  Sunday.  A 
sense  of  utter  peace  came  to  Clarke  as  the 
service  proceeded.  The  music  flooded  his 
soul  like  sunlight,  and  the  sunlight  filtering 
through  the  softly  stained  windows  seemed 
to  turn  to  music.  Louise  and  he  were  very 
close  together  in  that  holy  hour. 

After  the  service  she  went  to  the  chancel, 

and,  kneeling,  took  communion.    Never  had 

the  forms  of  ceremonial  religion  seemed  to 

Clarke  so  justified,  so  far  removed  from 

192 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

need  of  justification.  Never  had  faith  and 
reason  seemed  to  flow  so  harmoniously  in 
one  deep  channel  of  the  spirit's  life.  Doc- 
trines —  such  as  transubstantiation  —  fell 
away.  There  remained  only  the  beautiful 
symbolism  of  an  act  wherein  the  dross 
of  human  nature  was  momentarily  non- 
existent, and  only  the  pure  gold  of  faith 
and  joy  remained.  When  Louise  returned 
to  him,  there  was  a  light  in  her  eyes  that 
revealed  to  him  the  hitherto  unplumbed 
depths  of  her  spiritual  nature.  She  was  on 
the  heights.  An  air  of  glory  shone  round 
about  them.  He  had  not  the  philosophy  at 
that  moment  of  exaltation  to  ponder  the 
value  of  the  fact  that  he,  who  had  not  taken 
part  in  the  ritual,  shared  the  rapture  equally 
with  her  who  had.  His  whole  being  was  one 
ethereal  lake  of  love,  and  love  laughs  at 
philosophy.  He  drank  his  cup  of  joy  to  the 
last  drop.  He  was  intoxicated.  The  world 
was  one  thing,  he  and  this  divine  woman 
were  another.  They  were  one:  and  the 
blessed  hyperbole  of  love  compressed  the 
history,  nature  and  purpose  of  all  the  uni- 
verse into  this  one  solar  fact. 

That  same  afternoon  after  a  cosy  cup  of 
tea,  they  went  out  to  see  the  sun  set  and 
193 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

the  night  come  in.  There  would  be  people 
moving  about,  so  Clarke  said: 

"Let  us  go  to  the  summer  house  on  the 
hill  at  the  back  of  the  hotel.  It  is  not  likely 
that  anyone  will  be  there.  The  view  is 
splendid,  and  we  can  have  a  quiet  time  en- 
joying it.  But  you  must  take  a  warm  wrap, 
for  it  will  be  chilly  before  we  come  in." 

They  climbed  the  hill  path.  It  was  quite 
steep,  with  logs  set  in  for  steps  at  some  of 
the  harder  places.  They  went  slowly,  and 
without  looking  back,  for  he  wished  to  save 
the  view  for  her  to  get  in  all  its  magnificence 
at  once. 

It  was  worth  saving.  At  the  top  of  the 
ascent  stood  an  open  pavilion,  with  shutters 
which  could  be  regulated  to  suit  the  weather. 
It  surmounted  a  long  ridge  of  land,  with 
parallel  valleys  on  either  side.  Beyond  them 
as  they  entered  it  lay  higher  ranges,  reflect- 
ing the  last  flowing  colors  of  the  sunset ;  the 
windows  of  a  house  on  the  hillside  flashed 
golden  fire.  Then  as  they  turned  to  look 
back  in  the  direction  from  which  they  had 
come,  they  stood  silent,  drinking  in  the 
beauties  of  the  scene. 

The  sky  was  not  ablaze,  as  in  summer 
sunsets,  but  was  painted  in  pastel  tints,  pale 
194 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

green,  lavender,  pink  of  the  most  delicate 
shade,  an  opalescent  harmony  of  what  seemed 
to  them  notes  of  music  made  visible.  The 
earth  lay  still  and  listened.  Brown  woods, 
brown  fields,  brown  roads  winding  through  the 
peaceful  landscape,  all  silent,  all  wrapped 
in  the  brooding  spirit  of  vesper  prayer. 
A  dog  barked  across  the  valley  a  mile  away. 
A  wagon  rattled  down  the  stony  hill  road. 
The  sounds  passed,  and  the  silence  seemed 
deeper  than  before.  It  had  been  a  warm 
season,  and  the  chirping  of  field  insects  was 
on  the  air ;  not  the  strident  chorus  of  earlier 
months,  but  a  subdued  music  that  fitted  with 
the  subdued  tone  of  nature's  autumn  hymn. 
Reverently  the  newly  married  pair  stood 
there,  watching  the  flow  of  one  more  day's 
time  rill  into  the  vast,  mysterious  ocean  of 
eternity.  Louise  drew  close  to  her  husband. 
Her  head  rested  against  his  shoulder,  his 
arm  was  about  her.  It  seemed  as  though 
one  heartbeat  did  for  both,  as  if  one  breath 
held  their  two  lives  in  unison.  Their  fates 
were  one,  now  and  forever;  the  joy  of  each 
making  glad  the  other,  and  each  grieving 
for  the  other's  hurts.  Through  life  and  on 
into  eternity,  they  were  shipmates  for  the 
voyage.  For  weal  or  woe,  one  single  lot  was 
195 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

theirs.     They  had  passed  from  fellowship 
to  true  community. 

As  the  colors  faded  from  the  western  sky, 
they  turned  to  watch  the  succeeding  glory 
of  the  moonrise.  Clarke  helped  Louise  ad- 
just the  wrap  about  her  shoulders,  and  lower- 
ing the  shutter  behind  them  to  shield  her 
from  the  breeze  that  began  to  move  mys- 
teriously in  the  night  veiled  valley,  they 
sat  and  waited.  There  was  the  suggestion 
of  light  against  the  black  sky  line,  traced 
by  the  contour  of  the  hills  and  fringed  with 
trees.  When  the  full  moon  rose  majestically 
above  the  horizon  Clarke  quoted  Whittier: 

"  From  gold  to  gray 
Our  long  sweet  day 
Of  Indian  Summer  fades  too  soon ; 
But  tenderly 
Above  the  sea 

Hangs,    white    and    calm,    the    hunter's 
moon." 

"  It  is  very,  very  beautiful,"  Louise  said. 
;'  Very  beautiful ;  and  what  a  suggestion  of 
eternity  —  of  eternal  peace  —  there  is  in  a 
breathless  night  at  the  rising  of  the  full 
moon!  How  long  has  Mother  Earth  worn 
that  same  jewel  shining  at  her  breast?" 
196 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"Who  can  say?  The  geologists  perhaps 
—  but  we  have  not  invited  them  to  visit  us 
tonight.  This  night  belongs  to  the  spirit. 

"  I  have  never  been  afraid  of  the  dark,"  he 
continued.  "  Even  as  a  child  I  liked  it.  I 
used  to  lie  in  bed  and  look  out  at  the  stars. 
Did  you  ever  notice  how  much  individual 
character  they  have? 

"  Once,  the  first  year  that  I  was  in  pre- 
paratory school,  a  dear  friend  of  mine  was 
very  ill.  She  had  been  my  house  mistress  in 
school.  She  was  a  friend  to  all  the  boys,  but 
somehow  she  and  I  seemed  always  to  be 
special  friends.  She  had  known  my  dear 
mother,  who  had  died  not  long  before,  and 
she  tried,  I  think,  to  take  her  place. 

"Well,  she  was  not  expected  to  live.  I 
called  every  day — she  lived  some  miles  out 
in  the  country,  but  they  would  not  let  me 
see  her.  They  said  she  had  been  so  changed 
that  I  would  not  be  able  to  control  myself. 
One  day  I  stood  in  the  hall,  talking  to  her 
mother.  The  old  lady  was  pretty  deaf,  and 
I  had  to  raise  my  voice.  The  nurse  came 
down,  and  said,  'Miss  Sarah  heard  Master 
Chester's  voice,  and  she  has  asked  to  see  him.' 
So  they  decided  to  have  me  go  up  to  her 
room  for  a  moment.  When  I  saw  her,  I 
197 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

knew  it  would  be  the  last  time  I  should  ever 
see  her  alive.  She  smiled  at  me.  I  held  her 
hand  a  moment,  stooped  over,  kissed  her 
poor,  withered  cheek,  and  went  out,  unable 
to  say  a  word. 

"  She  lived  several  weeks  longer.  I  used 
to  lie  in  bed,  looking  out  at  a  certain  star 
that  seemed  to  me  to  be  mounting  guard 
over  the  house  where  she  lay.  When  it 
twinkled  brightly,  I  thought,  'Miss  Sarah 
is  having  a  good  night,'  and  when  it  seemed 
feeble  and  uncertain,  I  knew  it  was  going 
hard  with  her. 

"  Then  one  night  —  the  star  shone  briefly, 
and  disappeared.  Miss  Sarah  died  that 
night.  It  was  not  imagination.  That  star 
really  did  not  shine  that  night.  It  was  her 
star." 

They  were  silent  a  moment,  then  Louise 
said: 

"  That  is  a  beautiful  story,  Chester !  Some 
folks  would  scoff  at  it,  but  I  believe  it.  And 
most  people  would  call  it  a  sad  story,  but  I 
think  it  a  very  sweet  and  cheering  one.  It 
helps  to  prove  what  I  have  always  said,  that 
we  are  bound  closer  than  we  realize  to  the 
mysteries  of  nature,  and  that  at  night  we  are 
nearer  to  God  than  at  any  other  time." 
198 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

'Yes,  dearest,  we  are.  And  you  and  I 
are  living  very  near  to  Him  now.  He  has 
been  very  good  to  us." 

"  He  was  good  to  give  you  to  me,"  she 
said,  resting  one  hand  lightly  on  his  knee, 
and  looking  into  his  face. 

"  And,"  he  said,  "  God  has  given  me  the 
best  that  life  can  hold,  in  sending  you  to  me. 
I  feel  that  some  unseen  force  was  drawing 
us  together  through  the  years  —  that  you 
were  meant  for  me,  and  I  for  you." 

Clarke  would  have  been  more  or  less  than 
human  if  the  thought  of  her  earlier  marriage 
had  never  oppressed  him,  but  he  had  refused 
to  let  it  dwell  in  his  mind.  And  Louise 
never  said  a  word  that  made  it  necessary  for 
him  to  choose  between  mentioning  the  topic 
and  openly  avoiding  it.  To  her  it  was  ap- 
parently a  sealed  chapter  in  the  book  of  her 
life.  Her  children  were  not  a  memorial  of 
it,  they  were  simply  part  of  her. 

So  she  said,  "  Yes,  dear ;  and  I  am  so 
happy,  now  that  we  belong  to  each  other 
forevermore.  I  shall  be  glad  when  we  can 
announce  our  marriage,  and  solemnize  it 
publicly.  My  dear  father  will  be  so  pleased, 
and  it  will  be  so  much  better  for  Ernest  and 
Alice." 

199 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"Alice  made  me  very  happy,  the  dear 
child,  with  her  letter.  Do  you  not  think  she 
will  be  a  strong  ally,  in  trying  to  win  Ernest 
over  to  the  idea  of  our  marriage — without 
letting  him  know  it  is  anybody's  suggestion 
but  his  own?" 

"  It  will  help,  but  of  course  I  have  cau- 
tioned her.  We  shall  have  to  go  slowly  with 
Ernest.  Life  has  been  most  kind  to  me, 
dear — giving  me  such  children,  and  such  a 
husband." 

"It  is  a  tremendous  responsibility,  Lou- 
ise," he  said.  "You  may  be  sure  I  ap- 
preciate it,  and  it  shall  be  my  constant  en- 
deavor, in  every  thought,  every  word,  every 
act,  to  measure  up  to  it.  I  would  make  any 
sacrifice,  any  sacrifice  for  your  sake.  Much 
has  been  given  to  me,  and  much  shall  be  re- 
quired of  me.  But  these  are  the  responsi- 
bilities that  bring  with  them  strength  for 
the  performance  of  all  the  duties  they  im- 
pose, and  I  have  no  fear." 

"  Nor  have  I,"  she  said.  "  We  are  strong, 
both  of  us ;  we  have  an  important  mission  to 
perform,  for  the  future  of  those  two  young 
souls  is  in  our  hands,  to  be  moulded  by  our 
wisdom.  We  need  to  be  very,  very  wise, 
Chester!" 

200 


JHE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY] 

"Never  fear — love  will  point  the  way," 
he  exclaimed.  "I  feel  perfectly  confident 
that  things  will  soon  be  settled  as  we  wish 
to  have  them.  We  shall  have  our  public 
wedding,  that  wretched  business  of  the  will 
must  soon  be  ended,  your  father  and  mother 
will  be  happy  in  their  new  home  —  and  you 
and  I,  you  and  I  with  the  children  in  ours! " 

Another  silence  fell ;  one  of  those  intervals 
when  vocal  communication  became  inade- 
quate and  wordless  communion  took  its 
place.  Then  : 

"  Chester,"  she  said,  "  you  may  think  it 
foolish — no,  I  don't  think  you  will  —  I'm 
sure  you  won't." 

She  paused. 

"What,  dear  one?"  he  asked.  "I  can 
promise  you  before  I  know  what  it  is  that 
I  won't  think  it  foolish.  Nothing  that  you 
think  or  say  is  foolish  to  me." 

"Only  this,  sweetheart:  God  has  been  so 
kind  to  us  that  we  must  do  something  to 
give  expression  to  our  gratitude.  It  is  not 
enough  to  sing  a  psalm  of  thanks,  we  must 
actually  do  something  to  prove  that  we  are 
grateful." 

"  Splendid!  and  what  shall  it  be? " 

"  Well,"  she  said,  "  the  only  way  to  prove 
201 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

our  gratitude  is  to  do  something  that  will 
give  lasting  expression  to  our  thanks.  I 
want  to  take  some  of  my  money  and  endow 
some  form  of  useful  charity — something 
that  will  be  so  useful  that  no  one  will  think 
of  it  as  charity,  something  that  will  shine 
into  the  lives  of  people  as  naturally  and 
freely  as  the  sunlight." 

"  That  is  a  beautiful  idea,  and  I  am  more 
proud  of  you  than  ever." 

"  Then  you  are  willing? "  she  asked. 

"  Willing? "  he  repeated,  "  more  than  will- 
ing—  anxious,  envious  because  the  idea  is 
yours  and  not  a  bit  mine." 

"No,  it  shall  be  ours!" 

"  I  shall  make  it  so,  dear,  as  far  as  I  can, 
by  contributing  as  much  as  I  am  able  toward 
financing  it.  Have  you  decided  what  form 
it  shall  take?" 

"  Not  definitely,  but  I  think  I  should  like, 
of  all  things,  to  bring  music  into  the  lives 
of  those  who  hear  so  little  of  it  —  " 

"  The  very  thing! "  he  cried.  "  Tomorrow 
we  shall  plan  it,  and  take  the  first  steps. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  "it  is  getting  late, 
and  dinner  is  waiting.  Come,  we  must 
scamper  down." 

And,  standing  a  moment  hand  in  hand, 
202 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

with  a  prayer  in  their  hearts,  they  went 
back  to  the  house  —  happy  husband  and 
wife,  still,  like  the  poet's  "happy  maiden 
and  lover,  dreaming  the  old  dream  over." 
Life  was  at  high  tide  for  Chester  Clarke. 


203 


CHAPTER  IX 

WEEKS  flew  by,  and  it  was  time  to 
plan  for  Christmas.  The  children 
were  to  have  two  weeks  vacation  from  school, 
and  Chester  and  Louise  determined  to  de- 
vote their  time  particularly  to  them.  It  was 
decided  that  she  should  bring  them  on  to 
Boston  for  a  visit  of  four  or  five  days,  since 
they  had  never  seen  the  city;  then  Clarke 
was  to  go  with  them  all  to  Washington, 
where  he  would  leave  Mrs.  Willoughby  and 
Alice,  while  he  and  Ernest  went  South  for 
the  quail  shooting. 

Ernest  greeted  the  proposal  enthusiasti- 
cally. Mr.  Clarke  was  going  to  help  him 
select  a  gun — his  first  gun  —  and  whatever 
else  in  the  way  of  equipment  might  be  needed 
to  fit  him  for  the  field. 

Clarke  met  them  at  the  Huntington  Ave- 
nue station.  He  was  certain  that  no  hap- 
pier party  than  his  could  have  been  found  in 
all  the  throng  of  arriving  travellers  or  the 
friends  who  welcomed  them.  Alice  was  the 
first  to  see  him.  She  ran  forward  and  threw 
herself  into  his  arms.  He  caught  her  up, 
and  kissed  her.  The  other  greetings  were 
204 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

less  effusive  but  far  from  formal.  They 
were  witnessed  with  interest  by  a  friend  of 
Clarke's  who  had  ridden  in  the  same  car 
with  "the  very  stunning  widow"  and  her 
children.  He  spoke  of  her  in  that  way  to 
Clarke  the  next  day;  and  this  was  the  be- 
ginning of  a  new  phase  of  Clarke's  love- 
history. 

At  all  times  and  under  all  circumstances 
Clarke  had  been  on  his  guard  lest  a  word,  or 
an  expression  of  his  face,  might  betray  the 
secret  or  cause  comment  or  speculation. 
Having  agreed  to  play  the  game,  he  was 
determined  to  abide  by  its  rules  in  every 
detail.  It  had  been  far  from  easy,  but  he 
had  never  wavered  or  faltered  in  his  purpose. 

Louise  had  not  been  quite  so  steadfast. 
By  word  and  act  she  was  continually  ex- 
citing curiosity  or  interest  that  filled  him 
with  apprehension.  If  "protective  colora- 
tion "  was  difficult  for  him,  it  was  almost  a 
complete  impossibility  for  her.  And  yet  it 
was  on  her  behalf  that  the  plan  of  conceal- 
ment had  been  adopted.  Clarke  had  had 
some  anxious  moments,  but  they  were  as 
nothing  beside  the  test  to  which  he  was  at 
present  subjected. 

He  was  now  in  the  country  of  his  own 
205 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

people,  and  at  every  turn  they  met  friends 
or  acquaintances  of  his.  That  they  would 
admire  the  lady  was  inevitable.  That  they 
would  be  curious  was  natural.  That  the 
questions  would  be  more  or  less  embarrass- 
ing was  a  foregone  conclusion.  That  Louise 
would  help  him  through  his  difficulties,  or 
even  perceive  their  existence,  was  unlikely. 
When  she  was  not  completely  oblivious  to 
this  aspect  of  the  situation,  she  was  actually 
enjoying  it.  She  craved  attention.  She 
did  not  calculate  consequences. 

He  dined  with  Louise  and  the  children  on 
the  night  of  their  arrival.  The  same  sense  of 
pride  and  satisfaction  came  over  him  that 
had  been  his  in  Toronto.  Now,  however,  it 
was  intensified  by  the  constant  conscious- 
ness of  the  new  relationship.  How  he  would 
have  liked  to  let  the  world  know  that  this 
beautiful  woman  was  his  wife! 

He  recognized  and  bowed  to  several  per- 
sons at  nearby  tables.  Were  they  curious? 
If  so,  they  derived  no  satisfaction  from 
Chester  Clarke's  conduct!  He  maintained 
exactly  that  deportment  which  would  have 
been  his  had  Mrs.  Willoughby  been,  let  us 
say,  his  brother's  wife  come  to  town  for  a 
visit. 

206 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Louise  might,  however,  have  furnished  a 
clue  for  the  guidance  of  the  curious.  There 
was  nothing  of  the  sister-in-law  about  the 
way  in  which,  unconsciously  and  therefore 
the  more  obviously,  her  eyes  would  rest  upon 
him.  Nor  was  there  any  in-law  about  the 
manner  of  her  taking  his  arm,  afterward,  in 
the  street.  The  way  she  drew  close  to  him, 
the  way  she  looked  up  into  his  face,  was 
certainly  quite  enough  to  suggest,  at  least, 
that  there  was  something  more  than  the 
platonic  Idea  of  affection  between  them. 

Her  costuming  increased  the  difficulty. 
She  dressed,  in  Boston,  just  as  she  would 
have  dressed  in  New  York ;  and  the  oriole  is 
bound  to  be  conspicuous,  among  the  neat 
little  brown  wrens.  In  New  York  she  was 
in  competition  with  an  extravagance  of  style 
unknown  in  the  Capital  of  Puritania.  The 
cultured  ladies  of  Boston  dress,  for  the 
street,  in  a  fashion  proverbial  for  its  mod- 
esty. The  ladies  of  Boston  society  reserve 
their  indulgence  in  costly  and  brilliant  ap- 
parel for  Grand  Opera,  select  functions,  or 
the  privacy  of  their  own  homes.  Louise 
coruscated  in  public. 

One  evening,  when  they  were  going  to  the 
theatre,  Louise  consulted  Clarke  upon  the 
207 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

choice  of  a  gown;  should  she  wear  the  less 
conspicuous  one,  or  the  one  of  bolder  cut 
and  color,  that  Clarke  recalled  had  attracted 
attention  when  she  had  worn  it  in  New 
York? 

Ever  anxious  to  avoid  publicity  that  might 
imperil  the  execution  of  their  compact, 
Clarke  declared  in  favor  of  the  less  showy 
garment.  He  assumed  that  she  would  un- 
derstand his  reason  and  endorse  his  decision ; 
but  he  saw  that  he  had  piqued  her.  Quick 
to  find  justification  for  her  every  whim,  he 
told  himself  he  must  not  accuse  her  of  failing 
to  understand  him  and  his  motives :  she  had, 
perhaps,  thought  that  he  held  her  guilty  of  a 
desire  to  bask  in  public  attention,  when 
actually  her  one  wish  had  been  to  make  as 
brilliant  a  showing  as  possible  for  his  sake, 
as  her  escort. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  on  all  occasions 
and  from  all  sides  came  the  questionings  of 
his  friends.  "Who  was  the  pretty  lady  I 
saw  you  with  this  morning?"  asked  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Kickers  Club,  as  the  set  he 
lunched  with  called  itself.  "  That  was  a 
peach  of  a  girl  you  had  with  you  last  night," 
remarked  one  of  his  office  associates.  Even 
the  learned  Judge  of  the  Motion  Session 
208 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY: 

of  the  Court,  who  had  known  him  as  a  con- 
firmed bachelor,  took  occasion,  when  he 
stepped  up  to  the  bench  to  present  an  ex 
parte  matter,  to  whisper  Mr.  Weller's  word 
of  caution:  "Beware  of  the  vidders,  Sami- 
vel."  As  for  his  women  friends,  they  went 
almost  to  the  limit  of  politeness  in  besieg- 
ing him  with  questions  about  the  beautiful 
woman  who  was  so  much  in  his  company. 

On  several  occasions  he  had  to  introduce 
her,  but  the  conversation  never  got  any  fur- 
ther than  that  she  had  come  on  from  her 
home  in  the  West  for  a  few  days  in  Boston. 
Taking  care  that  it  stopped  there,  he  was  in- 
wardly aflame  with  desire  to  have  it  go 
further,  and  reveal  the  whole  truth. 

One  thing,  however,  in  their  relations  at 
this  time  was  ideal,  and  won  his  unqualified 
approval.  That  was  her  attitude  toward  his 
relatives  and  the  two  or  three  close  personal 
friends  to  whom,  upon  his  return  from 
Topeka,  he  had  made  known  the  fact  of  his 
engagement. 

They  drove  out  to  Brookline  one  after- 
noon, so  that  she  might  be  presented  to 
Clarke's  sister  and  aunt.  The  two  ladies 
lived  in  an  apartment,  small  but  adequate 
to  their  limited  needs. 
209 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Louise  carried  roses  to  them,  and  she 
kissed  the  ladies,  each  in  turn,  with  a  warmth 
of  affection  that  went  far  toward  establish- 
ing her  in  their  favor.  The  conquest  was 
complete  when  she  assured  them  that  she 
did  not  intend  to  take  Chester  away  from 
them,  but  only  begged  them  to  admit  her,  as 
a  new  member,  to  the  family  group. 

Chester  and  Louise  stayed  for  tea,  and 
"  Sister  Gertie "  showed  Louise  the  family 
heirlooms.  She  also  greatly  admired  the 
portrait  of  Chester's  mother  done  by  Sar- 
gent, and  remarked  how  much  he  resembled 
her.  Even  the  old  family  album  was 
brought  out,  and  with  much  laughter  on  the 
part  of  the  ladies  and  many  unavailing  pro- 
tests by  Clarke,  a  series  of  pictures  of  him 
from  the  tender  age  of  two  on  to  his  latest 
photograph  was  shown  and  variously  com- 
mented upon. 

Clarke  was  in  high  spirits  when  they  re- 
turned to  town,  for  he  felt  that  his  choice 
of  a  wife  had  received  the  unqualified  ap- 
proval of  his  own  kin. 

Clarke  and  Louise  set  apart  one  of  the 

afternoons  when  the  children  had  gone  to  a 

matinee  to  the  delightful  task  of  locating 

their  new  home.    Clarke  had  selected  two  or 

210 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

three  sites  upon  which  Louise  was  to  pass 
judgment. 

They  finally  agreed  upon  a  location  on 
Beacon  Street  with  a  view  over  the  Charles 
River  basin  into  the  setting  sun.  On  this 
drive  they  discussed  many  details  of  their 
future  domestic  affairs,  and  Louise  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  retain  her  old  servants 
and  livery. 

There  was  but  one  incident  that  marred 
this  happy  time  for  Clarke.  He  had  pre- 
sented one  of  his  friends  to  Louise,  in  the 
parlors  of  her  hotel.  They  had  had  a  jolly 
conversation  in  which  it  was  discovered  that 
they  had  several  friends  in  common.  It 
chanced  that  Clarke  was  called  away  that 
afternoon,  and  he  had  sent  word  to  Louise 
that  he  would  not  be  able  to  see  her  till  the 
following  day. 

Then,  on  the  morning  of  the  day  before 
Christmas,  he  had  taken  Ernest  down  town 
with  him  to  be  fitted  to  a  gun.  Alice  went 
with  them,  for  the  walk.  By  chance  refer- 
ence in  the  children's  talk,  Clarke  learned 
that  their  mother  had  had  dinner  with  his 
friend  on  the  night  of  his  absence.  Even  if 
he  could  have  brought  himself  to  speak  to 
her  about  it,  he  knew  from  past  experience 
211 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

that  her  reply  would  have  been:  "  Of  course, 
you  perfectly  understand! " 

He  had  heard  that  expression  from  her 
many  times,  and  many  times  he  had  read  it 
in  her  letters.  She  had  invariably  used  it 
when,  as  in  this  case,  he  did  not  at  all 
"  understand." 

How  did  it  happen  that  neither  his  friend 
nor  his  wife  had  mentioned  the  incident? 
There  was  only  one  explanation  he  could 
accept :  it  simply  had  happened  that  neither 
of  them  had  thought  to  mention  it. 

They  had  selected  the  location  where  they 
were  to  live  and  decided  upon  the  livery  of 
their  servants.  Clarke  had  given  the  chil- 
dren a  good  time.  He  had  taken  Ernest  to 
see  Harvard,  and  had  shown  them  both 
Bunker  Hill,  Faneuil  Hall,  and  the  Old 
State  House.  They  had  been  to  a  matinee 
at  the  Colonial  and  to  Keith's.  They  had 
taken  lunch  at  the  Market  Place  and  at  his 
club.  For  Christmas,  he  had  given  Ernest 
a  game  bag,  and  Alice  a  necklace  of  coral 
beads.  On  Christmas  Day  they  had  en- 
joyed a  skating  party  at  Jamaica  Pond. 

It  had  been  a  happy  week — with  only  the 
one  little  blemish;  and  now  it  was  time  for 
the  journey  South. 

212 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  train  from  the  North  with  Chester 
Clarke  and  Ernest  aboard  pulled  into 
the  station  at  Henderson,  North  Carolina, 
at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby  and  Alice  had  left  it  at  Washington, 
where  they  would  await  the  return  of  the 
hunting  party. 

This  was  Ernest's  first  experience  of  the 
South,  and  Clarke  pointed  out  the  objects 
of  interest  as  they  journeyed  along.  They 
had  a  glimpse  of  Libby  Prison  and  of  the 
defences  about  Petersburg,  through  which 
the  Union  Army  had  broken  on  that  mem- 
orable Sunday  morning,  the  news  of  which 
reached  Jefferson  Davis  in  church  and 
caused  the  evacuation  of  Richmond. 

Then  the  road  ran  through  a  rolling  coun- 
try in  which  forests  of  long  leaf  pine  gave 
way  to  cotton  and  cornfields,  surrounding  a 
mansion  house  and  dotted  here  and  there  by 
log  cabins  —  the  homes  of  the  black  man. 

All  of  this  was  new  and  strange  to  the 
Western  lad.  It  was  to  him  like  journeying 
into  a  far  country. 

213 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

They  found  Ralph  Gray  waiting  for  them 
with  a  "  hitch  "  —  a  pair  of  horses  and  a  two 
seated  wagon  that  had  seen  better  days  — 
and  stowing  their  baggage  under  the  seats 
they  were  off. 

It  was  a  fifteen-mile  drive  to  Williams- 
burg,  which  before  the  war  had  been  known 
as  the  garden  spot  of  North  Carolina.  The 
roads  were  very  heavy,  crossing  at  times 
running  streams  where  the  water  rose  nearly 
to  the  axles,  and  it  was  seven  o'clock  when 
they  turned  into  the  driveway  that  led  to 
Captain  Gray's  house. 

Soon  lights  appeared  in  the  windows  of  a 
large  mansion  house,  and  the  barking  of 
dogs  heralded  their  approach. 

The  Captain  was  at  the  paling  when  the 
team  came  to  a  stop.  Clarke  jumped  out 
and  grasped  his  hand.  He  was  a  tall,  lank 
man,  with  a  broad  forehead,  and  a  deep  scar 
in  his  cheek  where  a  minie  ball  had  entered. 
His  left  arm  hung  nearly  useless  at  his  side. 
He  was  a  graduate  of  the  University  of 
Virginia  and  still  read  his  classics.  Clarke 
had  hunted  on  the  Captain's  plantation  a 
number  of  seasons  and  was  a  welcome  visitor. 

The  family  consisted  of  the  Captain,  his 
wife,  and  son,  Ralph,  a  man  of  Clarke's  age. 
214 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"This  is  the  young  man  I  wrote  you 
about,  Captain.  Ernest,  this  is  Captain 
Gray." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  said  the  Captain, 
"  very  glad  to  welcome  you  to  my  home." 

The  party  entered  the  house  through  a 
door  that  the  Captain  boasted  was  never 
shut,  followed  by  two  or  three  dogs  and  as 
many  negroes,  in  possession  of  the  baggage. 

Ernest  was  presented  to  Mrs.  Gray  —  a 
gentlewoman,  as  he  saw  at  a  glance.  Then 
they  were  shown  to  their  room,  a  large 
square  one,  with  two  huge  beds  standing 
side  by  side,  against  the  wall.  Pieces  of 
furniture  in  various  stages  of  dilapidation 
were  placed  about  the  room.  A  fire  blazed 
on  the  hearth. 

In  a  few  moments  they  had  removed  the 
stains  of  travel,  and  were  seated  at  the 
dining  room  table,  to  which  the  Captain  had 
escorted  them  with  dignified  courtesy.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence  while  he  said  grace, 
and  then  he  bade  Clarke  and  Ernest  fall  to, 
since  they  must  be  famished  after  their  long 
drive  in  the  keen  winter  air. 

And  what  a  table!  It  groaned  with 
plenty.  There  were  at  least  four  varieties 
of  pork  —  chine  and  jowl  and  spareribs,  and 
215 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

sausage  meat ;  there  were  beaten  biscuit  and 
corn  pone;  there  were  home-made  condi- 
ments and  relishes;  there  were  preserved 
peaches  and  several  kinds  of  cake,  with 
steaming  coffee  in  big  cups,  and  there  were 
the  Captain  and  his  wife  to  insist  upon  their 
taking  another  helping. 

When  they  could  eat  no  more,  the  party 
repaired  to  the  living  room  and  gathered 
about  the  roaring  fire  to  smoke  their  pipes 
and  plan  for  the  morrow's  campaign.  Jess 
was  called  in  consultation,  a  negro  so  black 
that  when  he  made  his  appearance  it  was 
the  Captain's  little  joke  to  say  that  a  shower 
must  be  coming  up,  it  had  grown  dark  so 
suddenly. 

What  with  the  long  drive,  the  substantial 
supper  and  the  warmth  of  the  room,  Clarke 
and  Ernest  soon  found  themselves  nodding, 
and  were  off  to  bed  under  the  escort  of  Jess, 
who  went  up  to  see  that  they  had  everything 
to  make  them  comfortable. 

After  a  breakfast  as  satisfying  as  the  sup- 
per had  been,  Clarke  and  Ernest,  with  Ralph 
as  escort,  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  out 
of  the  yard  to  the  joyful  barks  of  the  setters, 
Dan  and  Dandy. 

Broad  fields  of  corn  stubble,  defined  by 
216 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Virginia  rail  fences,  stretched  away  to 
"branches"  dense  with  trees  and  bushes. 
Through  these,  the  horses  moved  abreast 
while  the  dogs  circled  ahead,  their  noses  to 
the  ground  and  with  a  glance  back  now  and 
then  for  a  wave  of  the  hand  from  Ralph.  In 
less  than  five  minutes  the  quick  swish  of 
Dan's  tail  and  his  cautious  advance  in  one 
direction  indicated  that  he  had  found  game. 
He  moved  forward  twenty  feet  and  came  to 
a  point,  his  tail  straight  out,  one  fore  paw 
raised.  Working  in  from  another  angle 
Dandy  "honored"  his  point,  and  the  two 
stood  motionless. 

"  They  have  found  them,"  said  Ralph,  and 
the  three,  throwing  the  bridle  rein  over  their 
horses'  heads,  slipped  to  the  ground  and  ad- 
vanced behind  the  dogs,  Clarke  and  Ernest 
loading  as  they  did  so. 

While  Ralph  spoke  a  word  of  caution  to 
the  dogs,  Clarke  stationed  Ernest  well  to 
the  front,  with  brief  instructions  as  to  how 
to  hold  his  gun  and  aim  when  the  birds 
went  up,  and  not  to  fire  too  soon. 

There  was  a  quick,  sharp  whir  of  many 

wings   and   the  covey   rose.      The   almost 

instantaneous    discharge    of    Clarke's    and 

Ernest's  guns  followed;  one  bird  dropped. 

217 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

Ernest  dashed  forward  and,  catching  it  up, 
turned  with  an  expression  of  triumphant 
joy  in  his  face.  He  had  not  heard  Clarke'^ 
gun  and  he  was  sure  he  had  killed  his  birq. 
Clarke  glanced  at  Ralph  as  much  as  to  say, 
don't  question  it,  and  the  two  congratulated 
the  delighted  boy. 

The  birds  had  flown  into  the  branch,  and 
after  the  dogs  had  found  three  singles,  two 
of  which  Clarke  killed,  they  remounted  their 
horses  and  moved  on. 

The  hunt  continued  until  late  in  the  after- 
noon with  an  intermission  for  luncheon.  In 
the  afternoon  Ralph  joined  in  the  shooting. 
They  flushed  a  dozen  coveys  during  the  day, 
and  out  of  this  number  Ernest  claimed  three 
birds,  while  Clarke  and  Ralph  each  had  a 
good  bag. 

They  were  back  at  the  house  in  time 
to  clean  their  guns  and  wash  up  before 
supper. 

The  two  days  following  were  much  like 
the  first,  and  Ernest  had  ten  birds  to  his 
credit  which  he  carefully  preserved  to  take 
back  to  his  mother. 

On  the  last  evening  of  their  stay  they 
were  gathered  round  the  open  fire.  From 
a  stone  trough  on  the  table,  the  men  replen- 
218 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

ished  their  pipes  from  time  to  time,  with 
the  "  bright "  tobacco  grown  on  the  planta- 
tion. Clarke  turned  the  conversation  on  the 
Civil  War;  he  was  manoeuvring  for  the 
benefit  of  Ernest,  who  had  been  eager  to 
hear  how  the  Captain  came  by  his  wounds. 

"You  were  on  Stonewall  Jackson's  staff?" 
he  said. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  Captain,  "  I  was  with 
him  the  night  he  was  killed.  We  had  been 
moving  into  a  position  where  we  could  strike 
the  Yankee  flank  in  the  morning.  We  would 
have  rolled  them  up  and  captured  the  whole 
army.  It  was  providential  for  the  Union 
cause  that  Jackson  was  killed.  As  a  good 
Presbyterian,  I  am  bound  to  believe  that  his 
death  was  foreordained." 

"How  was  your  arm  hurt?"  Ernest 
ventured  to  ask. 

"That  was  in  defending  a  bridge.  The 
Yankees  got  in  behind  us.  I  ordered  my 
men  to  scatter  and  each  one  take  care  of 
himself. 

"  I  ran  for  a  clump  of  bushes.  A  trooper 
emptied  his  revolver  at  me,  called  out  for 
me  to  surrender,  but  I  kept  on ;  then  he  rode 
alongside  of  me,  struck  me  across  the  arm 
with  his  sabre  and  took  me  prisoner.  I  got 
219 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

this  wound  in  my  face  reconnoitring  —  a 
sharpshooter  caught  me.  That  is  only  one 
of  the  fortunes  of  war.  The  bullet  came  out 
of  the  back  of  my  neck.  General  John  B. 
Gordon  was  wounded  in  exactly  the  same 
way.  We  were  fighting  Chamberlain  and 
the  20th  Maine  at  the  time.  Oh,  there  was 
a  soldier  for  you !  No  more  splendid  officer, 
no  more  chivalrous  gentleman  crossed  the 
Potomac  during  the  war.  He  was  sans  peur 
et  sans  reproche.  We  Rebels,  as  they  called 
us  then,  have  reason  to  revere  his  memory. 
General  Chamberlain's  salute  of  honor  to 
the  Confederate  army  laying  down  its  arms 
at  Appomattox  was  sublime !  It  will  be  his 
enduring  memorial." 

"Did  you  own  slaves?"  asked  Ernest. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  had  many.  We  treated 
them  well  and  as  a  rule  they  were  contented, 
I  might  say  happy.  We  used  to  go  up  to 
Raleigh  year  after  year,  and  take  our  ac- 
customed seats  in  the  legislature.  Here  we 
passed  such  laws  as  we  regarded  essential 
to  the  institution  of  slavery. 

"We  sold  a  slave  or  two  now  and  then 

when  we  wanted  a  holiday  at  Long  Branch 

or  White  Sulphur,  or  a  trip  to  Europe.    A 

good  house-bred  slave  was  worth  two  thou- 

220 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

sand  dollars  and  up.  Field  hands  sold  for 
one  thousand  or  so.  The  Abolitionists  of 
New  England  used  to  raise  a  holler  but  we 
never  thought  for  an  instant  that  the  artisans 
of  the  north  would  dare  come  down  here  and 
attack  our  sovereign  State. 

"  I  once  rode  up  to  my  neighbor's  door. 
The  slave  who  came  to  lead  my  horse  away 
was  his  son.  I  saw  the  father's  look  in 
the  boy's  face;  it  was  unmistakable.  That 
sickened  me.  I  favored  freeing  them  after 
that." 

"But  you  fought  in  the  war,"  interposed 
Clarke.  ' 

"  Of  course  I  did  —  I  went  with  my  State 
when  it  seceded.  That  was  my  duty.  We 
had  the  Constitution  on  our  side.  Why,  I 
am  told  that  one  of  the  authorized  books  in 
use  at  West  Point  when  Robert  E.  Lee 
was  a  cadet  there,  national  institution  though 
it  was,  recognized  the  right  of  secession. 

"I  am  glad,  however,  that  we  lost  out. 
As  you  look  back,  you  can  see  that  it  had 
got  to  come. 

"I  don't  know  that  it  ever  occurred  to 
you,"  he  continued,  turning  to  Clarke,  "  but 
as  I  look  at  it,  it  was  a  mere  matter  of  his- 
tory repeating  itself. 

221 


"When  the  Normans  invaded  England, 
the  Saxons  under  Harold  went  down  before 
them.  That  was  the  first  encounter  between 
two  irreconcilable  forces,  and  the  man  in 
armor  won.  They  met  again  in  Cromwell's 
time  —  the  Cavalier  and  the  Roundhead, 
and  this  time  the  Roundhead  had  the  better 
of  the  argument. 

"  The  third  and  last  time  it  was  the  Puri- 
tan of  New  England  against  the  Cavalier 
of  Virginia,  and  you  won  once  for  all.  There 
was  no  place  in  modern  civilization  for  the 
man  on  horseback.  I  do  not  mean,  of  course, 
that  every  man  on  the  one  side  or  the  other 
was  Puritan  or  Cavalier,  —  I  mean  only 
that  the  dominant  spirit  was  the  one  or  the 
other." 

'  Yes,  but  your  Virginian  was*  an  Ameri- 
can. He  was  a  lover  of  liberty,"  interposed 
Clarke. 

"  True,  he  was  a  lover  of  liberty — liberty 
for  his  own  class  —  but  he  was  not  a  lover  of 
democracy.  He  was  skilled  in  statecraft, 
a  born  orator,  and  he  made  a  superb  soldier. 
He  was  generous,  hospitable,  brave  —  that 
is  the  best  that  can  be  said  of  him.  He  was 
not  a  scholar,  he  was  not  a  philanthropist,  he 
was  not  a  theologian.  He  was  not  a  poet. 
222 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

He  was  not  a  scientist.  He  was  not  a  musi- 
cian. He  had  no  inventive  genius.  He  was 
not  a  business  man.  Can  you  imagine  a  Lee 
selling  anything  over  a  counter?  No,  the 
type  of  man  that  dominated  the  South  was  a 
back  number,  out  of  harmony  with  democ- 
racy. He  had  got  to  go.  I  am  one  of  them 
and  my  generation  cannot  be  made  over. 
Like  the  Indians  we  can  read  our  doom  in  the 
setting  sun.  The  next  generation  may  do 
better."  He  paused  as  if  reflecting,  and  the 
conversation  took  another  turn  with  the  old 
soldier's  next  remark. 

'You  may  think  I  am  a  poor  man,"  he 
said,  laughing,  "  but  I  am  not.  I  am  rich. 
I  can  prove  it  to  you,"  and  turning*  to  an 
old  desk  he  drew  out  a  bundle  of  papers. 
"  I  put  all  my  money  into  Confederate 
securities.  I  was  sure  we  would  win.  Here 
they  are." 

"How  much?"  asked  Clarke,  looking 
them  over. 

"  About  one  hundred  thousand  dollars." 

Ralph'  had  taken  down  his  banjo  and 
begun  to  tune  and  strum  it.  He  sang  sev- 
eral negro  melodies  in  good  voice.  Then  he 
struck  into  a  song  with  the  refrain,  "  When 
the  war  came  and  ruined  my  beautiful 
223 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Southern  home."  When  he  finished  no  one 
broke  the  silence. 

Clarke  sat  a  little  back  from  the  group. 
A  flickering  light  from  the  fire  played  upon 
the  sturdy  form  of  the  Captain,  enhanced 
the  sweet  dignity  of  his  wife's  face,  illumi- 
nated the  ebony  skin  of  the  black  man 
crouched  in  the  chimney  corner.  It  picked 
out  the  bare  patches  on  the  wall  where  the 
plaster  had  fallen  off  and  glinted  on  cracked 
windowpanes. 

Clarke  felt  a  lump  rising  in  his  throat. 
He  stood  up  and,  noting  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  broke  up  the  party. 

In  their  bedroom,  Ernest,  who  had  been 
deeply  impressed  by  the  evening's  conversa- 
tion, exclaimed: 

"What  a  wonderful  man  Captain  Gray 
is!" 

'Yes,"  answered  Clarke,  "these  South- 
erners were  wonderful  men.  They  fought 
to  the  last  ditch  for  the  cause  that  they  be- 
lieved to  be  right.  Their  valor  is  one  of  the 
best  American  traditions.  They  came  back 
to  their  devastated  homes  and  no  man  has 
ever  heard  them  whimper.  Their  wonderful 
pride  of  family  and  race  has  saved  them 
from  the  fate  that  would  have  overtaken 
224 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

them  if  they  hadn't  possessed  it.  The  com- 
ing generations  will  make  good.  If  mate- 
rialism ever  gets  the  better  of  our  national 
ideals,  these  men  will  be  heard  from.  They 
will  see  that  the  Republic  suffers  no  harm. 
When  you  marry  pick  out  a  Southern  girl." 


225 


CHAPTER  XI 

R1LPH  took  Clarke  and  Ernest  the 
next  morning  to  the  station.  They 
were  returning  by  a  different  route.  It  was 
an  eighteen-mile  drive.  The  train  was  re- 
ported over  an  hour  late,  so  at  the  urgent 
solicitation  of  Clarke,  Ralph  had  started  on 
his  way  home  without  awaiting  its  arrival. 

Clarke  and  Ernest  sat  down  in  the  small 
waiting  room,  which  was  vacant,  with  their 
baggage   and  guns  beside  them.     Ernest 
carried  the  precious  quail  in  the  game  bag 
slung  from  his  shoulder.    Clarke  had  taken 
a  book  from  his  satchel,  and  was  reading, 
when  a  man  entered  the  room  and  sat  down 
opposite  them.     After  a  few  minutes  he 
said,  "  Have  you  been  hunting,  gentlemen? " 
Thinking  that  the  question  was  one  of  polite 
inquiry  as  one  might  pass  the  time  of  day, 
Clarke  replied,  "  Yes,  sir,  we  have  been  quail 
hunting  for  the  last  three  days." 
"  Did  you  kill  any  game? " 
"  Oh,  yes,  we  had  very  fair  success." 
Then  after  a  pause  the  man  inquired, 
"May  I  see  your  license?" 
226 


"  What  license? "  asked  Clarke,  beginning 
to  sense  that  something  was  back  of  this 
questioning. 

'  Your  license  to  shoot  game  in  this  State." 

"  I  have  no  license.  I  never  heard  that 
one  was  required.  I  have  been  hunting  on 
Captain  Gray's  estate  as  his  guest,"  and  he 
resumed  his  reading  as  if  to  close  the  con- 
versation. 

But  the  Southerner  was  not  to  be  shaken 
off  so  easily.  "  If  you  gentlemen  have  no 
licenses,  I  must  put  you  under  arrest  and 
take  you  before  the  magistrate  or  lodge  you 
in  jail." 

Clarke  saw  that  the  situation  was  des- 
perate. Not  to  consider  his  own  plight,  or 
reasons  for  returning  North  by  this  train, 
what  would  Louise  think  of  his  fitness  to  be 
a  father  to  her  darling  boy  if  he  landed  him 
in  jail  the  first  time  he  took  him  from  her 
sight  ? 

"Who  are  you,  anyway?"  asked  Clarke, 
"  and  what  is  this  about  the  license? " 

"  I  am  the  State  Game  Warden.  If  you 
have  any  doubt  about  it,  here  are  my  papers. 
Nobody  can  shoot  in  this  State  without  a 
license." 

"Where  can  we  get  a  license?" 
227 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"They  cost  ten  dollars  and  fifty  cents 
apiece,  and  you  get  them  at  the  County 
Clerk's  office."  He  paused  as  if  thinking. 
"I  reckon  I  could  take  your  money  and 
send  them  to  you." 

"  Well,"  said  Clarke,  beginning  to  see  a 
solution  of  the  situation,  "supposing  you 
take  our  money  and  give  us  a  receipt.  I 
shall,  of  course,  inquire  into  the  matter.  If 
it  is  all  right  you  will  hear  nothing  further 
from  me." 

The  two  men  walked  into  the  office  of  the 
station  agent,  and  sitting  at  a  table,  Clarke 
wrote  on  a  telegraph  blank:  "Received  of 
Chester  Clarke  of  Boston  and  Ernest  Wil- 
loughby  of  Topeka,  ten  dollars  and  fifty 
cents  each,  total  twenty-one  dollars,  in  pay- 
ment of  two  licenses  to  hunt  in  the  State  of 
North  Carolina  for  the  season  of  19  —  " 

As  he  was  writing  this,  the  game  warden 
said  to  the  station  master,  "  That  young 
feller's  game  bag  ought  to  be  searched.  I 
believe  he  is  carrying  game  out  of  the  State." 

Clarke  affected  not  to  hear  this  remark 
and,  hurrying  through  the  transaction, 
handed  over  the  money  as  the  game  warden 
signed  the  receipt. 

"  Now,"  said  Clarke  briskly,  placing  the 
228 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

receipt  in  his  pocketbook,  "as  we  have  ad- 
justed our  matters  satisfactorily,  I  will  bid 
you  good  day,"  and  he  returned  to  the  wait- 
ing room  and  to  Ernest  with  the  remark  of 
the  warden  still  in  his  ears.  What  did  it 
mean?  He  had  not  long  to  wait,  before  he 
found  out,  for  he  saw  the  game  warden  come 
out  of  the  "  Grocery  and  Notions "  store, 
standing  hard  by,  in  company  with  two  men. 
He  left  them  at  the  platform  of  the  station 
and,  walking  toward  Ernest,  but  addressing 
his  remark  rather  to  Clarke,  said  in  a  per- 
emptory tone  and  manner,  "  I  believe  that 
boy  has  quail  in  that  bag,  and  I  am  going  to 
search  it.  There  is  a  heavy  penalty  for 
carrying  game  out  of  this  State." 

It  seemed  to  Clarke  almost  as  if  he  could 
hear  the  ten  quail  in  the  bag  calling — as  if 
he  could  see  their  feathers  protruding  from 
the  bag.  Once  the  warden's  hand  touched 
it,  and  in  a  very  literal  sense  the  game  would 
be  up.  Ernest  would  be  under  arrest  — 
with  who  could  say  what  results.  Clarke 
thought  quickly  and  acted  more  quickly  still. 
He  knew  that  the  quail  in  the  game  bag  and 
a  ticket  for  Washington  in  the  hands  of  the 
boy  waiting  for  a  train  that  would  cross  the 
frontier  into  Virginia  before  making  a  stop, 
229 


would  warrant  an  arrest  and  conviction. 
He  knew  also  that  to  interfere  with  an  officer 
in  the  discharge  of  his  duty  was  a  State's 
prison  offence. 

On  the  other  hand,  while  it  was  perfectly 
evident  that  there  was  something  in  the  bag, 
the  officer  did  not  know  that  it  was  game. 
He  only  inferred  so.  It  might  be  ammuni- 
tion or  any  one  of  a  dozen  things.  If  he 
made  the  arrest  on  suspicion  alone  and 
found  no  game,  he  would  be  in  the  wrong 
and  liable  for  any  consequences  that  might 
follow.  Would  he  insist  upon  searching  the 
bag?  There  was  a  chance  that  he  would  not 
if  Clarke  interposed,  and  as  this  was  the 
only  chance  to  save  the  boy,  he  took  it. 

Stepping  in  front  of  the  advancing  officer 
he  said: 

"  Stop  a  moment.  You  and  I  have  made 
one  arrangement,  and  that  ought  to  cover 
this  matter.  You  claimed  that  we  were 
liable  to  arrest  for  hunting  without  a  license. 
I  accepted  your  interpretation  of  the  situa- 
tion and  put  up  my  money,  and  I  was  led 
to  believe  that  the  incident  was  closed — 
that  we  were  free  to  go  on  our  way. 

"  Now,  I  don't  know  the  text  of  your  law, 
but  I  am  a  lawyer  myself,  and  I  do  know 
230 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

that  there  is  no  law  in  North  Carolina  or 
anywhere  else  in  this  United  States  that 
will  authorize  you  to  search  that  bag.  You 
have  n't  any  warrant  and  the  boy  is  n't  under 
arrest.  You  can't  search  a  person,  Mr. 
Officer,  who  is  not  under  arrest,  and  if  you 
attempt  it  in  this  case,  I  shall  resist  you." 

Ernest  looked  at  the  two  men  in  awe  and 
alarm.  They  stood  facing  one  another  less 
than  two  feet  apart.  There  was  resolution 
in  the  eye  of  each  and  a  tense  shut  of  their 
j  aws.  They  were  about  the  same  age,  height 
and  weight. 

Ernest  saw  the  butt  of  the  officer's  re- 
volver protruding  from  his  hip  pocket  and 
he  wondered  if  he  would  draw  it. 

Two  factors  probably  settled  the  matter 
without  any  bloodshed,  or  jail  sentence;  one 
was  that  it  was  incumbent  upon  the  warden 
to  make  the  first  move,  the  other  that  he 
faced  a  man  who  was,  as  he  realized,  his 
intellectual  and  social  superior. 

A  certain  dominating  force  in  the  man 
before  him  raised  a  doubt  in  his  mind,  and 
hesitating,  he  was  lost. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence, 
"if  you  will  admit  that  you  have  hunted 
game  in  this  State  so  that  I  am  not  called 
231 


upon  to  prove  it  in  case  you  make  any 
trouble  about  the  license,  I  '11  let  the  matter 
drop." 

"  I  have  already  admitted  that,  and  I  will 
repeat  it  again  in  the  presence  of  your  wit- 
nesses—  call  them  in." 

The  warden  did  so. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Clarke,  as  the  men 
lined  up  beside  the  officer, "  I  am  prepared  to 
state  in  your  presence  that  this  young  man 
and  I  have  been  hunting  quail  for  the  last 
three  days  on  Captain  Gray's  plantation 
and  have  killed  some  birds." 

The  party  then  filed  out  and  as  their  de- 
parting footsteps  died  away,  Clarke  won- 
dered if  he  had  seen  the  last  of  them.  He 
was  painfully  conscious  of  the  birds  in  that 
bag  and  was  greatly  relieved  when  the  train 
at  last  arrived  that  took  them  safely  across 
the  frontier  into  Virginia. 

In  closing  the  account  of  this  adventure 
to  his  mother,  Ernest  said: 

"After  I  saw  Mr.  Clarke  facing  that 
officer,  I  began  to  think  that  you  needed 
someone  bigger  than  I  am  to  fight  your 
battles,  and  if  Mr.  Clarke  wants  to  marry 
you,  as  I  think  he  does,  I  won't  find  any 
fault." 

232 


PART  THREE 


PART  THREE 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  day  that  saw  the  departure  of 
Louise  for  the  West  marked  the  be- 
ginning of  a  new  and  most  important  era 
in  Chester  Clarke's  life.  Louise  had  had 
the  anticipation  of  new  adventures  to  sus- 
tain her  at  the  moment  of  parting;  he  had 
nothing  to  look  forward  to  in  the  immediate 
future  but  the  dreariness  of  separation.  She 
would  be  seeing  new  places  and  people,  and 
doing  things  spiced  with  the  pleasant  flavor 
of  novelty.  He  would  be  living  the  old  life, 
the  life  he  had  lived  before  he  had  met  her. 
The  only  difference  would  be  that  as  he 
went  about,  on  business  or  on  pleasure  bent, 
he  would  be  conscious  every  moment  of  the 
new  and  unrelaxing  desire  for  a  particular 
companionship.  In  the  city's  crowded 
streets,  he  would  be  a  lonely  man.  Sur- 
rounded by  friends,  he  would  have  none  with 
whom  he  might  share  his  disappointment 
and  his  hopes.  True,  it  was  not  for  long, 
235 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

but  lonely  people  do  not  measure  time  as 
others  do. 

Knowing  that  time  would  drag  if  he 
counted  the  hours,  he  laid  out  a  stiff  course 
of  work,  and  kept  himself  at  it  with  the  most 
intense  application  of  which  he  was  capable. 
This  was  not  entirely  as  an  anodyne;  he  had 
lost  some  ground  in  his  practice,  with  all  this 
running  about  the  country.  There  were 
arrears  of  work  to  be  made  up,  and  certainly 
he  had  now  an  imperatively  practical  reason 
for  pursuing  the  policy  of  intensive  cultiva- 
tion in  his  professional  preserve.  Always  a 
hard  worker,  he  now  worked  harder  than 
ever,  striving  steadily  toward  the  one  clearly 
defined  objective  of  professional  advance- 
ment. He  was  determined  to  rise  as  high 
as  his  powers  of  mind  would  carry  him  in 
the  scale  of  professional  standing.  Money 
was  not  his  goal,  but  reputation.  He  was 
moving  all  the  time,  and  all  his  motion  was 
progressive.  It  was  now  all  for  The  Family, 
and  he  dreamed  of  the  home  that  they  were 
to  establish. 

Louise  had  been  gone  a  month,  and  Clarke 

was  taking  stock  of  things.    He  sat  alone 

in  his  rooms,  with  a  small  stack  of  letters 

spread  out  before  him.    They  told  the  story; 

236 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

of  the  past  four  weeks.  First,  there  had 
come  the  letter  telling  of  her  safe  arrival. 
She  and  Alice,  whom  she  had  taken  with 
her,  had  reached  the  Coast  just  in  time  to 
get  acquainted  with  the  new  house  and  re- 
acquainted  with  the  old  folks,  as  Louise  ex- 
pressed it,  and  to  rest  from  the  journey 
before  the  day  of  that  great  and  joyous 
event,  the  house-warming,  to  which  she  had 
been  summoned.  She  wrote  about  the  house : 

"You  will  remember  that  when  I  wrote 
you  from  Topeka,  after  your  visit  there,  I 
was  not  very  much  interested  in  the  new 
house.  I  referred  to  you  many  of  the  ques- 
tions that  Father  and  Mother  were  asking 
from  day  to  day,  but  my  own  thoughts  were 
fixed  upon  the  home  in  the  East  that  would 
some  day  soon  be  ours — yours  and  mine, 
and  the  children's.  Of  course,  my  interest 
in  that  is  still  great,  because  the  time  is 
drawing  nearer  when  the  dream  shall  be 
realized.  But  now  that  I  am  here,  in  the 
midst  of  things,  it  is  only  natural  that  it 
should  mean  a  great  deal  more  to  me  than  it 
could  possibly  have  meant  before.  And  I 
know  you  will  enjoy  hearing  about  it. 

"The  house  is  just  a  short  distance  out- 
side the  city,  in  a  most  beautiful  region.  It 
237 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

is  in  a  colony  of  wealthy  people,  who  have 
the  loveliest  homes  you  could  imagine.  We 
have  wide  grounds,  to  which  the  landscape 
gardener  has  devoted  his  finest  art  —  the  art 
which  consists  in  taking  nature's  hints  for 
the  development  of  the  site,  and  just  adding 
here  and  there  the  last,  finishing  touch  which 
nature  seems  somehow  or  other  to  have  over- 
looked. The  plantation  has  been  arranged 
in  such  a  way  as  to  give  the  finest  views,  on 
one  side  over  the  bay,  and  on  the  other, 
toward  the  highlands.  It  is  a  place  fit  for  a 
royal  family,  and  I  feel  like  a  queen." 

She  went  on  to  describe  their  new  manner 
of  life  with  a  wealth  of  detail  which  threw  a 
brilliant  illumination  upon  another  letter 
which  came,  a  day  or  two  later,  from  Mr. 
Malsby. 

"  My  dear  Son-to-be,"  he  wrote,  "  I  wish 
you  were  out  here  with  us.  It's  great. 
We're  living  like  kings.  I've  put  just 
about  everything  into  this.  This  house- 
warming  is  going  to  smash  all  records.  I  'm 
having  my  fling  late,  but  it's  going  to  be 
an  all-fired  good  one.  My  friend,  Senator 
Hooper,  off  of  whom  I  bought  this  property, 
is  giving  us  a  boost  that  puts  us  way  up  top. 
He 's  taken  this  housewarming  business  for 
238 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

his  own  job,  all  I  got  to  do  is  foot  the  bills, 
and  the  bigger  they  come  the  better  I  like  it. 
He 's  taken  a  great  shine  to  Louise,  he  says 
she  ought  to  be  It  out  here,  and  it  won't 
be  his  fault  if  she  doesn't  have  the  whole 
Coast  at  her  feet  in  no  time.  He  has  all 
kinds  of  influence,  and  if  anybody  can  bring 
it  about,  he 's  the  boy.  You  better  leave 
Boston  to  take  care  of  itself  for  a  while,  and 
you  come  out  here  and  enjoy  life,  with  us. 
You  'd  think  Louise  was  a  different  woman, 
she 's  so  happy  and  gay.  Everybody  admires 
her  already,  and  I  can  see  she  is  going  to  be 
a  great  favorite,  Queen  of  the  Coast.  She 
will  make  a  big  hit  when  the  Big  Day  comes. 
You  ought  to  be  mighty  proud,  my  boy,  to 
be  engaged  to  such  a  woman." 

Here  Clarke  paused  in  his  reperusal  of 
the  correspondence.  "  Queen  of  the  Coast "  ? 
The  vulgar  phrase  disturbed  him  just  as  it 
had  when  the  letter  arrived.  He  meant  to 
be  generous,  and  rejoice  in  his  wife's  tri- 
umphs. Nothing  could  have  been  surer  than 
that  she  would  win  them.  He  did  not  be- 
grudge her  any  of  the  pleasures  that  life  in 
these  soft  surroundings  must  bring  to  a  per- 
son of  her  character  and  tastes.  He  could 
not  be  jealous  of  her  admirers,  three  thou- 
239 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

sand  miles  away!  He  could  only,  as  they 
had  done  in  the  first  happy  days  of  their 
love,  "trust  and  be  true."  Be  true?  He 
could  not  have  been  otherwise  if  he  had  tried. 
His  life  had  been  utterly  changed  by  her 
entry  into  it,  and  it  must  henceforth  follow 
a  course  quite  beyond  any  controlling  power 
of  his.  That  was  the  simple  fact.  As  for 
trusting — anything  else  would  have  been 
a  denial  of  his  own  judgment  in  taking  her 
for  his  wife;  it  would  have  been  unjust  to 
her,  and  unworthy  of  himself.  When  he 
had  plighted  his  own  troth,  he  stood  ready 
to  keep  it  in  the  face  of  death  or  any  of  the 
powers  of  life.  And  where  he  had  placed 
his  trust,  he  expected,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
a  similar  unswerving  loyalty. 

But — and  this  was  the  end  of  the  argu- 
ment in  his  mind  —  this  was  not  a  natural 
situation.  He  and  she  belonged  together. 
Nothing  should  have  been  allowed  to  come 
between  them  —  not  the  severing  miles  of 
space,  not  the  companionship  of  others, 
however  pleasant  and  safe.  People  live  in 
the  presence  of  an  enemy,  and  there  is  risk 
enough  of  disaster  without  giving  him  added 
opportunity  to  indulge  his  hostile  inclina- 
tions. We  must  guard  our  treasures,  with 
240 


unrelaxing  vigilance,  in  this  world  of  un- 
avoidable exposure  to  hazard.  He  ought  to 
have  insisted  on  her  staying  with  him.  Would 
it  have  availed?  She  had  an  imperious  will. 
The  wish  of  the  moment  was  her  supreme 
guide.  She  could  not  brook  dictation.  To 
command  her  was  impossible,  even  to  per- 
suade her  was  almost  so  —  and  not  because 
she  meant  to  be  obdurate,  but  because  of  her 
own  superlative  belief  in  the  fitness  of  her 
wishes  to  prevail  and  to  govern  not  only 
her  own  conduct  but  that  of  others.  No 
wonder  Clarke  was  restless! 

With  a  sigh,  he  resumed  the  rereading  of 
his  letters.  At  the  next  one,  the  little  pucker 
between  his  eyes  smoothed  itself  out.  This 
letter  was  from  Alice,  and  was  so  naively 
friendly,  so  simple  and  direct  in  its  child- 
like expression  of  affection  and  good  will, 
that  it  made  Clarke  wish  we  could  all  be 
children  all  our  lives. 

Then  came  the  long  letter  in  which  Louise 
told  of  the  housewarming — and  her  tri- 
umph. As  he  read,  his  frown  deepened,  and 
when  he  had  finished,  the  paper  fell  to  the 
floor,  his  head  dropped  forward  and  rested 
in  his  cupped  hands,  and  he  sat  motionless 
through  many  long  minutes. 
241 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "the  great  night 
has  come  and  gone,  and  I  am  a  very  happy 
woman.  The  house  was  like  a  palace  in  the 
'Arabian  Nights.'  The  grounds  were  like 
the  scene  in  '  Lalla  Rookh,'  in  Paine's  fire- 
works that  used  to  take  us  to  fairyland  when 
we  were  children.  It  was  all  so  gorgeously 
lovely,  I  can  hardly  settle  down  long  enough 
to  tell  you  about  it. 

"  All  the  best  people  were  here.  Some  of 
them,  no  doubt,  came  prepared  to  scoff,  but 
I  am  sure  that  none  went  away  with  any 
doubt  of  the  ability  of  the  new  people  to  do 
things  right.  Father  spared  no  expense,  and 
everything  was  perfect.  The  decorations 
were  nothing  less  than  magnificent.  Foun- 
tains played  streams  of  colored  water,  the 
flower  beds  were  lighted  by  a  specially  in- 
stalled system  of  colored  bulbs,  there  were 
thousands  of  lights  in  the  trees  and  shrubs, 
and  soft  music  that  seemed  part  of  the  air 
itself,  so  delicately  was  it  played.  The  house 
was  a  bower  of  blossoms.  The  men  and 
women  were  the  handsomest  lot  of  people  I 
have  ever  seen. 

"  Senator  Hooper  took  me  under  his  wing, 
and  you  may  be  sure  that  nothing  escaped 
his  attention  that  could  make  me  happier. 
242 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY; 

He  sat  out  a  dance  with  me,  and  told  me 
that  if  he  had  a  daughter  of  his  own  he  could 
not  have  been  better  pleased  than  to  have  her 
exactly  like  me.  He  said  that  he  would  like 
to  do  everything  for  me  that  he  would  have 
done  for  his  daughter,  and  that  I  must  be 
sure  to  let  him  know  whenever  I  wanted 
anything,  because  you  know,  he  said,  I  am 
pretty  near  a  king  out  here,  and  there  is 
nothing  you  might  want  that  I  could  not  get 
for  you.  Wasn't  that  nice  of  him?  And 
I  am  sure  he  meant  it,  too. 

"  Of  course  we  had  the  best  orchestra  that 
could  be  hired,  and  as  the  Senator  had  in- 
sisted that  I  must  play,  and  as  it  would  not 
do  to  cross  his  wishes  at  the  very  outset,  I 
complied.  I  gave  the  Jocelyn  'Berceuse,' 
and  Grieg's  '  To  Spring/  and  then,  carried 
away  by  the  spell  of  the  lovely  surroundings, 
I  improvised  a  little.  The  soft  air  here 
makes  one  feel  like  a  different  creature  from 
the  person  one  used  to  be  in  the  East,  and 
the  magic  of  the  night  and  the  lovely  sur- 
roundings simply  carried  me  out  of  myself, 
until  it  seemed  as  though  I  had  only  to  hold 
the  violin,  and  the  music  came  of  its  own 
accord.  Never,  I  know,  had  I  played  half 
so  well. 

243 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"And  what  do  you  think  happened? 
There  was  a  gentleman  in  the  audience  who 
is  passionately  fond  of  the  best  music,  and  is 
regarded  as  one  of  the  best  authorities  on  the 
Coast,  and  he  was  so  delighted  that  he  hur- 
ried up  to  me  and  said : '  Splendid,  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby!  But  I  must  confess  you  have 
puzzled  me  with  your  selection.  I  cannot, 
to  save  my  life,  place  the  last  thing  you 
played.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  for 
I  did  not  suppose  such  beautiful  music  could 
exist,  and  I  not  know  of  it.  Do,  please,  en- 
lighten me!'  So  I  told  him  it  was  a  com- 
position of  my  own,  with  a  good  deal  of 
improvisation.  He  went  into  raptures  over 
it,  and  finally  said,  in  the  hearing  of  a  num- 
ber of  people,  '  I  did  not  know  that  we  had 
welcomed  a  genius  into  our  happy  com- 
munity. We  are  most  fortunate.'  Don't 
you  think  that  was  a  triumph  for  the  very 
first  night? 

"  Life  here  is  as  different  as  can  be  from 
our  dull,  cold  unromantic  life  in  the  East. 
It  suits  me  absolutely.  Why,  Chester,  I  feel 
as  though  I  had  never  really  lived  before.  I 
think  I  must  have  been  made  for  this  climate, 
or  it  for  me.  It  is  what  I  have  always  craved, 
without  knowing  just  what  it  was  that  I 
244 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

wanted.  I  think  of  you  working  away  there 
in  Boston,  and  I  wish  you  could  have  a  share 
in  the  pleasures  that  I  see  await  me  here. 
I  am  going  to  conquer  the  Coast !  You  may 
laugh,  but  I  shall  surely  do  it. 

"And  now  I  must  stop,  for  I  must  rest 
this  afternoon,  to  be  ready  for  the  festivities 
that  are  arranged  for  tonight.  We  seem  to 
be  starting  out  on  a  regular  campaign." 

She  had  enclosed  a  clipping  from  one  of 
the  San  Francisco  papers.  This  Clarke  did 
not  reread.  It  ran  like  this: 

"  The  wealth  and  fashion  of  the  city  as- 
sembled last  night  at  The  Alhambra,  the 
new  villa  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Malsby, 
newcomers  from  the  East.  Never  have  the 
stars  of  our  society  shone  brighter  than  on 
this  occasion.  If  the  Malsbys  and  their 
beautiful  daughter,  Mrs.  Walter  Wil- 
loughby,  had  set  out  with  deliberate  pur- 
pose to  capture  the  Coast  they  could  not 
have  scored  a  greater  triumph. 

"  The  spacious  grounds  were  a  revel  of 
light  and  color,  and  the  best  orchestra  to  be 
had  for  money  discoursed  sweet  strains  upon 
the  evening  airs.  Mrs.  Willoughby,  herself 
a  musician  of  no  mean  attainments,  won  the 
plaudits  of  the  critical  audience  with  her 
245 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

splendid  rendition  of  some  of  the  most  dim- 
cult  music  written  for  the  violin.  If  this 
gifted  lady  were  to  take  up  music  as  a  pro- 
fession, the  great  Ysaye  himself  would  be 
compelled  to  look  to  his  laurels.  A  verit- 
able goddess  of  music,  but  it  is  safe  to 
say  that  this  tenderly  nurtured  daughter  of 
luxury  will  not  dispense  the  musings  of  her 
gifted  bow  to  vulgar  ears.  It  was  a  triumph 
indeed  for  this  Dark  Lady  of  the  East,  and 
we  miss  our  guess  if  California  does  not 
adopt  her.  Indeed,  it  is  whispered  among 
the  elect  that  a  very  distinguished  and  in- 
fluential gentleman  has  already  taken  the 
fair  one  under  his  wing,  and  under  such 
auspices  it  is  impossible  to  predict  the  heights 
to  which  the  newcomer  may  yet  attain. 
There  may  be  in  store  a  brilliant  reign  for  a 
new  Queen  of  the  Coast.  Mrs.  Willoughby 
wore  —  " 

One  reading  of  that  rhapsody  was  quite 
enough  for  Chester  Clarke.  It  sickened  his 
soul.  What  right  had  any  one  to  sully  his 
wife's  name  with  such  oozing  adulation?  It 
was  shameful. 

He  did  not  even  allow  his  mind  to  form 
the  thought  which  would  have  expressed  his 
feeling  toward  any  woman  who  had  per- 
246 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

mitted  such  things  to  be  said  about  herself. 
Could  she  have  prevented  it? 

She  need  not  have  sent  him  the  hateful 
thing  in  print! 

Perhaps  she  had  sent  it  simply  to  let  him 
know  what  was  going  on. 

Perhaps ! 

Chester  Clarke  had  had  a  pretty  serious 
shock. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  had  to  fight 
against  unfaith.  It  was  bitterly  hard. 


247 


CHAPTER  H 

FROM  the  middle  of  January  to  the 
middle  of  February  Clarke  spent  most 
of  his  spare  time  reading  letters  from  the 
West.  It  was  not  a  wholly  happy  time  for 
him.  Each  letter  gave  him  something  new 
to  think  about.  A  few  days  after  the  fa- 
mous housewarming  Louise  wrote: 

"DEAR  ONE:  —  This  morning  I  had  the 
most  glorious  horseback  ride.  We  went  out 
into  the  country,  and  you  cannot  imagine 
how  beautiful  it  is.  This  is  surely  the  native 
country  of  my  soul. 

"The  East  is  cold,  and  hard,  and  the 
people  are  like  the  climate.  Where  Massa- 
chusetts is  intellectual,  California  is  passion- 
ate. Life  here  is  a  thing  of  joy,  not  a  test 
of  endurance.  The  heart  does  not  take  its 
orders  from  the  brain.  You  live,  and  you 
enjoy  life. 

"  I  can  close  my  eyes,  and  see  poor,  dear 
old  Boston  —  for  you  know  I  am  really 
very  fond  of  the  town  —  I  can  see  it  now, 
248 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

deep  with  snow,  icy  gales  whooping  across 
the  Common,  the  streets  clogged,  everything 
bare  and  bleak.  And  here  it  is  like  spring 
at  its  very  best.  Every  breath  of  air  is  per- 
fumed, and  carries  a  note  of  music. 

'  You  despise  the  word  *  lure,'  I  know,  but 
you  must  let  me  use  it,  for  it  is  really  the 
only  word  I  can  think  of  that  expresses  the 
strange  power  of  this  country  to  cast  a  spell 
over  you.  You  are  lured  from  one  pleasure 
to  another.  Even  you,  dear,  with  your  ad- 
mirable New  England  firmness  of  charac- 
ter, that  I  so  much  respect  in  you,  would 
relax  just  a  little  if  you  could  spend  a  few 
weeks  with  us  out  here.  And  it  would  do 
you  good.  What  jolly  times  we  could  have 
together!  I  would  play  to  you,  evenings,  in 
the  moonlight,  so  that  you  would  believe 
yourself  an  enchanted  prince,  and  me  the 
fairy  who  had  cast  the  spell  over  you." 
Then  she  wrote  about  the  people: 
"  Such  wonderful  people !  They  are  the 
most  hospitable  folk  in  the  world.  Their 
hospitality  is  not  like  that  of  the  East.  It 
is  spontaneous,  and  insistent.  These  Cali- 
fornians  are  always  trying  to  give  you  a 
good  time,  and  when  they  have  planned 
something  for  your  entertainment,  they 
249 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

simply  will  not  take  no  for  an  answer. 
They  will  carry  you  away  by  force,  rather 
than  let  you  escape  their  kind  intentions. 
Can  you  guess  the  name  of  one  lady  with 
whom  they  do  not  have  to  use  much  vio- 
lence? I  spoke,  the  other  day,  about  going 
back  to  the  East.  They  simply  would  not 
hear  of  it.  Why,  I  had  only  just  come! 
There  were  so  many  things  I  must  see  and 
do.  It  must  not  be  thought  of,  at  least  not 
until  summer.  You  would  have  wondered, 
if  you  had  heard  them,  how  they  ever  man- 
aged to  get  along  before  we  came.  It  was 
all  very  flattering. 

"  The  Senator  especially  insisted  that  I 
must  not  think  of  leaving  them.  He  said  it 
would  be  cruel  to  him,  after  coming  into  his 
life  and  bringing  so  much  light  and  joy  into 
his  dark  places  —  those  were  his  very  words 
—  for  me  to  go  away  and  leave  him  lonelier 
than  if  I  had  never  come  into  his  life  at  all. 
You  know,  he  has  done  everything  for  us, 
and  we  cannot  help  being  most  grateful  to 
him.  It  would  have  taken  us  years  to  get 
ourselves  half  as  well  established  as  we  have 
done  in  these  few  weeks,  thanks  to  his 
mighty  influence. 

"I  told  him  my  dear  son  was  alone  on 
250 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  other  side  of  the  continent,  and  that  I 
simply  must  visit  him  and  see  that  all  was 
well  with  him,  and  take  my  daughter  back 
to  school.  Of  course  there  was  nothing  more 
for  him  to  say,  especially  when  I  told  him 
how  my  whole  hope  in  life  was  wrapped  up 
in  Ernest,  and  how  it  was  my  one  ambition 
to  see  him  grow  up  to  be  a  fine,  strong, 
clean  living,  honest  and  honored  man;  rich 
in  character,  whether  he  had  much  or  little 
money. 

"  The  dear  old  man  said  he  admired  and 
respected  my  feeling,  and  that  it  was  one 
more  reason  why  I  should  settle  here,  and 
make  the  Coast  my  permanent  home.  He 
said,  *  Your  boy,  who  must  be  a  fine  fellow, 
will  soon  be  through  with  school,  the  college 
years  will  pass  quickly,  and  he  will  be  ready 
to  go  into  business  or  a  profession.  I  can, 
and  of  course  I  will,  do  a  great  deal  to  help 
him  get  his  start.'  You  will  see,  dear,  what 
an  important  consideration  this  is.  It  would 
be  a  wonderful  thing  for  Ernest  to  begin  his 
career  with  a  friend  like  the  Senator  to  make 
the  way  smooth  for  him.  Perhaps  he  ought 
to  go  to  college  here,  instead  of  Harvard. 
I  shall  look  into  it. 

"Of  course,  if  we  were  to  settle  in  the 
251 


THE  UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

East,  as  we  have  been  planning,  you  would 
do  whatever  you  could  to  help,  but  you 
could  not  possibly  do  the  things  there  that 
my  Senator  can  do  for  us  here.  I  haven't 
the  slightest  doubt  that  if  you  were  to  come 
out  here  and  settle,  as  a  lawyer,  he  would 
be  able  soon  to  get  you  an  important  Judge- 
ship,  or  possibly  a  diplomatic  appointment. 
Wouldn't  it  be  a  splendid  thing,  after  we 
have  our  public  wedding — and,  oh,  what 
a  wedding  we  could  have  in  this  wonderful 
place!  —  wouldn't  it  be  almost  unimagin- 
ably fine  if  we  could  go  abroad  as  an  Am- 
bassador's family,  or  at  least  a  Minister's? 
Isn't  it  worth  thinking  over  pretty  seri- 
ously? I  can  see  promise  of  a  wonderful 
future  for  you,  and  for  Ernest  —  and  for 
me,  too ! " 

Then  came  a  letter  from  Mr.  Malsby. 

"Dear  Chester,"  he  wrote,  "we  are  still 
on  deck,  and  the  old  boat  is  bowling  along 
in  great  style.  There 's  something  in  the  air 
out  here  that  gets  into  you,  and  I  'm  feeling 
and  acting  like  a  kid  of  twenty.  Wish  you 
were  with  us.  By  the  way,  why  are  n't  you? 
After  a  fellow's  been  living  here  a  few 
weeks,  he  gets  to  feeling  that  everybody 
ought  to  be  doing  just  whatever  is  the  most 
252 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

fun  for  him.  Wind  up  your  business  in 
Boston,  come  on  here,  and  in  a  year  I  bet 
we  '11  be  making  you  Governor. 

"Louise  is  having  the  time  of  her  life. 
She 's  a  general  favorite,  popular  with  every- 
body. There  are  a  lot  of  fine  young  lads 
who  are  interested  in  her,  old  man,  and  while 
I  know  you  are  as  safe  with  her,  being  en- 
gaged to  her,  as  if  you  were  married  to  her, 
still  I  sort  of  wish  you  were  out  here  with 
us,  just  so  you  could  look  after  your  own 
interests  a  bit  more. 

"  Please  forgive  an  old  fellow  if  he  talks 
too  much.  There  isn't  anything  to  worry 
about.  Of  course,  that  damned  money  busi- 
ness is  still  hanging  fire,  and  sometimes  I  'm 
tempted  to  throw  the  whole  thing  up,  and 
let  Sharp  get  away  with  it.  But  I'm  not 
built  of  quitting  stuff,  and  it  goes  against 
the  grain  even  to  think  of  it.  Still,  I  '11  be 
mighty  glad  when  the  thing  is  settled,  and 
we  can  go  ahead  with  that  wedding,  which 
will  be  some  wedding,  or  I  '11  be  the  most 
disappointed  man  in  seven  States. 

"  The  Senator  is  a  mighty  valuable  friend 

to  us,  he 's  doing  everything  for  Louise.    If 

he  was  twenty  years  younger,  my  boy,  I  'd 

say  you'd  better  look  out  for  him!     You 

253 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

know  how  Louise  gets  'em  all  going,  she  just 
can't  help  it;  every  man  she  speaks  to  or 
looks  at  begins  to  think  right  away  he 's  the 
only  man  on  earth.  You  know  you  thought 
so,  yourself,  first  thing  —  and  you  proved 
to  be  the  lucky  one. 

"  Well,  the  Senator  is  as  I  said  doing  just 
everything  for  Louise.  He's  the  darndest 
man  for  pull  you  ever  heard  tell  of.  He 's 
like  the  man  at  the  picnic  who's  got  the 
tickets  and  the  lunch,  everybody  sticks  close 
to  him.  Politics  or  society,  it 's  all  the  same 
—  see  the  Senator.  He  pulls  the  strings 
that  make  the  politicians  dance,  and  he  says 
who's  going  to  be  who  at  the  parties,  he's 
the  whole  shootin'  match.  He  puts  'em  up, 
and  he  knocks  'em  down. 

"  When  he  says  Louise  is  going  to  be  it, 
why,  you  can  just  bet  your  bottom  dollar 
that 's  what  she 's  going  to  be.  It  works  two 
ways,  as  you'll  easily  see,  for  if  he  once 
changed  his  mind  he  could  queer  her  with 
all  the  folks  as  quick  as  scat.  So  naturally 
Louise  figures  pretty  strong  on  what  the 
Senator '11  think  of  a  thing  before  she  up 
and  does  it. 

'You'd  laugh  to  see  the  way  they  work 
this  society  game.  Politics  is  nowhere.  The 
254 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Senator  has  proposed  Louise  for  member- 
ship in  pretty  near  every  club  and  organiza- 
tion the  ladies  have  out  here.  She 's  pretty 
popular,  and  partly  by  that  and  partly  by 
sheer  backing  she 's  become  an  officer  in  half 
the  female  lodges.  It  seems  funny  to  a  reg- 
ular he  man,  but  let  me  tell  you  it 's  no  kid's 
game,  the  way  the  ladies  play  it.  All  very 
simple  looking  and  smooth  on  the  surface, 
but  say — maybe  they  ain't  some  tug  o'  war 
going  on  underneath!  An  ordinary  male 
person  'd  be  clean  done  up  after  a  month  or 
so  of  it,  but  not  the  ladies,  they  thrive  on  it. 
And  there  is  n't  a  one  of  'em  all  has  got  any- 
thing on  our  Louise  when  it  comes  to  that 
game.  She 's  there  with  the  goods." 

This  set  Clarke  thinking  harder  than  ever. 
The  idea  of  a  removal  gained  force  with  rep- 
etition from  different  sources.  If  it  seemed 
'desirable  to  the  old  man,  there  must  be 
enough  in  it  to  make  it  worth  serious  con- 
sideration. Clarke  gave  honest  recognition 
to  every  argument  in  favor  of  it,  and  as- 
signed to  each  the  utmost  value  he  could 
without  unfairness  to  his  own  side  of  the 
case.  Louise  had  evidently  fallen  in  love 
with  the  Coast  country  and  people.  Was 
that  a  lasting  passion,  or  a  whim  of  the  mo- 
255 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

ment?  The  whim  of  the  moment  was  to 
one  of  her  temperament  the  moment's  ruling 
law!  • 

But,  granting  the  sincerity  of  her  con- 
viction, the  fact  remained  that  the  place  for 
a  wife  is  with  her  husband,  and  the  place  for 
him  is  not  to  be  decided  on  whim.  He  be- 
longed to  the  East,  he  had  sprung  from  its 
soil,  the  blood  of  New  England  ran  in  his 
veins ;  he  was  too  well  established,  too  deeply 
rooted,  to  change  now.  He  could  not  give 
up  his  practice,  no  matter  what  prizes  might 
be  offered  in  a  new  country.  It  was  not  a 
matter  of  money,  not  a  matter  of  relative 
rank ;  it  was  a  matter  of  a  man's  lif ework,  a 
matter  of  pride  in  completing  the  structure 
he  had  planned  and  had  so  successfully 
begun  to  rear.  Is  not  the  architecture  of 
a  career  as  dear  a  thing  to  a  man  as  the  safe- 
guarding of  her  honorable  reputation  is  to 
a  woman?  And  would  a  woman  hesitate  a 
moment,  whatever  the  inducement,  if  the 
price  of  it  were  the  sacrifice  of  her  honor? 
The  questions  answered  themselves. 

It  was  simply  impossible  for  him  to  con- 
sider this  suggested  remaking  of  his  life, 
and  it  could  not  fairly  be  asked  of  him.  Of 
course,  he  told  himself,  it  had  not  really  as 
256 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

yet,  at  least,  been  asked  of  him  with  serious 
intent  of  moving  him  to  a  decision;  but  the 
mere  suggestion  was  disquieting.  He  must 
do  everything  he  could  to  get  Louise  to 
come  back  East.  It  would  not  be  difficult, 
for  she  must  want  to  be  with  him  as  much 
as  he  wanted  to  have  her  with  him;  and  be- 
sides, he  knew  that  she  must  be  genuinely 
anxious  to  visit  Ernest  and  to  be  near  him 
for  some  time;  so  anxious  that  no  persua- 
sions of  that  confounded  old  fox  of  a  Sena- 
tor could  hold  her  back. 

What  was  the  use  of  worrying?  he  asked 
himself.  He  answered  the  question  most 
positively  —  no  use  at  all,  it  was  sheer  non- 
sense to  waste  time  on  it,  the  whole  thing 
would  straighten  itself  out  in  the  natural 
course  of  events. 

But  just  as  he  succeeded  in  bringing  him- 
self around  to  this  sensible  and  rather  more 
comfortable  frame  of  mind,  there  came  an- 
other letter  which  set  the  machinery  of  doubt 
in  motion  again.  In  this  letter  Louise  spoke 
about  the  house  in  a  way  and  at  a  length 
which  showed  that  she  was  becoming  at- 
tached to  it  with  an  affection  that  was  going 
to  make  it  more  difficult  than  ever  for  her 
to  tear  herself  away.  She  was  thinking  of 
257 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

it,  more  and  more  definitely,  as  her  home. 
She  was  being  alienated  from  him. 

"  I  love  the  place,"  she  wrote,  "  as  I  have 
never  loved  any  other  place.  It  is  more 
truly  my  home  than  any  other  spot  of  earth 
has  ever  been ;  more,  I  honestly  believe,  than 
any  other  spot  of  earth  ever  can  be  after 
this." 

She  wrote  more  and  more  about  the 
money — all  for  the  children's  sake.  He 
wrote  back  to  her: 

"  My  Darling:  —  I  do  wish  you  would  not 
let  that  money  occupy  your  thoughts  so 
much.  I  know  it  has  to  be  attended  to,  but 
why  not  leave  that  to  your  father  and  me? 
It  is  for  your  own  sake  that  I  suggest  it. 
Such  things,  if  you  let  them  once  find  lodg- 
ment in  your  mind,  have  a  truly  terrible 
power  to  drive  other,  and  happier,  things 
out;  and  if  your  mind  is  full  of  such  cares 
and  worries,  how  can  you  be  happy? 

"  I  want  you  to  be  always  happy.  As  I 
have  told  you,  often  and  often,  I  would 
make  any  sacrifice  of  personal  interest  or 
desire,  pleasure  or  profit,  any  sacrifice  of 
my  own  wellbeing,  to  contribute  to  your 
happiness.  You  know,  dear,  that  that  is  not 
one  of  those  lover's  vows  at  which  Jove 
258 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

laughs,  but  a  deliberate,  exact  statement  of 
literal  truth.  I  would  do  anything,  give  up 
anything,  to  make  life  easier  or  pleasanter 
for  you.  If  I  could,  I  would  take  over  the 
entire  burden  of  this  fortune  of  the  chil- 
dren's. But  the  issue  cannot  be  forced,  we 
must  bide  our  time.  When  the  time  comes, 
you  may  be  sure  that  your  interest,  and 
theirs,  will  be  safeguarded." 

He  wrote  much  more,  but  this  was  the 
tenor  of  the  whole  long  letter;  and  it  was 
this  that  led  Louise,  always  impatient  of 
admonition,  however  well  meant  and  how- 
ever justified  in  the  fact,  to  answer  petu- 
lantly: 'You  don't  understand  me,  you 
don't  sympathize  with  me.  It  is  all  for  the 
children,  there  is  nothing  selfish  in  it." 

As  if  he  had  thought  or  hinted  that  there 
was !  His  sympathy,  he  knew,  was  perfect. 
He  thought  he  understood  her  better  than 
she  understood  herself.  But,  he  mused 
rather  bitterly,  what  man  could  be  sure  that 
he  really  understood  a  woman,  any  woman, 
even  the  woman  he  loved  with  heart  and  soul 
and  whose  happiness  was  dearer  to  him  than 
his  own?  And  this  was  a  form  of  cynicism 
he  had  always  particularly  despised! 

A  boyishly  frank  and  friendly  letter  from 
259 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY; 

Ernest  was  the  one  bright  spot  these  weeks 
had  for  Chester  Clarke. 

He  ached  for  the  end  of  this  episode,  this 
intermission  in  their  happiness.  She  would 
soon  be  coming  East  again.  All  would  be 
well  once  more. 


260 


ON  the  twenty-first  day  of  March  Ches- 
ter Clarke  observed  an  anniversary. 
It  was  just  a  year  since  he  had  met  Louise, 
at  that  memorable  dinner  given  by  the  Sons 
to  the  Daughters  of  the  American  Revolu- 
tion. The  anniversary  had  been  something 
of  a  disappointment  to  him.  Disappoint- 
ments had  been  coming  his  way  pretty 
steadily  of  late. 

He  had  hoped  to  spend  this  day,  of  all 
days,  with  Louise;  but  she  had  sweetly  de- 
clared it  quite  impossible.  The  twenty-first 
came  on  a  Thursday,  and  he  had  spoken  of 
his  plan  to  come  down  Wednesday  night 
and  return  by  the  midnight  train  on  Thurs- 
day night.  She  was  sorry,  she  said,  but  she 
had  already  arranged  to  go  up  to  Ernest's 
school  town  for  the  last  half  of  the  week. 
The  parents  of  one  of  the  boys  were  giving 
a  house  party  for  some  of  the  students  who 
were  unable  to  go  home  for  the  Easter  holi- 
days, and  Ernest  had  been  very  anxious  to 
have  his  beautiful  mother  there.  She  had 
261 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

planned,  she  said,  to  cut  the  visit  short  and 
come  back  to  the  city  on  Saturday,  so  as  to 
be  with  Clarke  for  his  customary  week  end 
visit.  She  could  not  possibly  disappoint 
Ernest;  nothing  could  be  quite  important 
enough  to  justify  her  in  such  a  course. 
Therefore,  Clarke  would  have  to  spend  the 
day  alone.  She  would  be  with  him  in  her 
thoughts,  and  he  would  have  to  be  content 
with  that.  They  could  have  their  celebra- 
tion, if  he  so  desired,  at  the  end  of  the  week. 

So  Clarke  had  let  the  matter  pass.  He 
would  not  think,  he  said,  of  letting  his  selfish 
pleasures  interfere  with  her  plans  or  those 
of  Ernest.  He  did  not  even  tell  her  how 
great  a  disappointment  this  was  to  him. 
He  played  the  stoic.  He  observed  the  anni- 
versary alone.  He  spent  the  evening  re- 
viewing the  events  of  the  year.  He  had, 
during  this  annus  mirdbilis,  kept  a  diary  — 
something  he  had  never  before  thought  of 
doing.  As  he  read  it  through,  this  evening, 
its  entries  furnished  a  framework  for  the 
story,  as  he  reconstructed  it  in  his  mind. 

It  was  a  bright  and  happy  story,  up  to 
the  time  of  his  wife's  departure,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  New  Year,  for  the  Coast. 
After  that  the  spirit  of  it  subtly  changed. 
262 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY; 

Now  for  the  first  time  he  realized  clearly 
how  great  the  change  had  been.  He  had 
been  vaguely  uncomfortable,  these  last  three 
months;  increasingly,  but  still  vaguely,  un- 
comfortable. There  had  been  no  definite 
grievance  to  supply  a  nucleus  for  his  dis- 
content. Now,  however,  as  he  recalled  in 
swift  review  the  events  of  those  weeks,  their 
significance  took  more  definite  shape  in  his 
mind.  Each  one  stood  out  with  startling 
clearness,  and  each  one  took  on  new  mean- 
ing from  juxtaposition  with  the  others.  The 
chronological  sequence  predicated,  all  too 
clearly,  the  possible  logical  consequence. 

It  was  with  the  entry  of  February  15, 
when  he  went  to  meet  her  in  New  York,  that 
the  sinister  suggestion  began  to  assume 
sharper  outline,  dark  forms  of  fear  to 
emerge  from  the  chiaroscuro  of  the  film. 

Feb.  15  —  Met  Louise.  What  a  joy,  as 
the  minutes  passed,  to  know  that  each  one 
brought  her  nearer.  When  the  train  drew 
in,  I  could  see  that  my  Louise  was  Queen 
of  the  Railroad,  whether  or  not  she  had  yet 
become  Queen  of  the  Coast.  The  porters 
almost  fought  for  the  honor  of  assisting 
her,  while  other  passengers  went  uncared 
for.  How  beautiful  she  is  I  It  seemed  to 
263 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

*  i 

me  that  she  looked  lovelier  than  ever.  It 
seemed  to  me  there  was  a  new  suggestion  of 
the  voluptuous  in  her  beauty,  as  though  the 
softer  airs  of  the  Coast  climate  had  imparted 
a  new  tone  to  her  whole  being :  certainly  not 
sensual,  hardly  even  sensuous,  but  warmer, 
richer,  more  paganly  womanish — more 
alluring. 

She  had  planned  to  be  gone  only  a  month 
— just  to  "run  out"  to  the  Coast  for  the 
housewarming  and  back.  She  had  been 
away  six  weeks,  and  every  week  had  been 
a  year  to  me.  No  wonder  I  was  glad  to  see 
her — Lord,  how  tame  the  words  sound. 
Glad?  I  was  wild  with  joy.  Now  at  last 
the  long  wait  was  ended,  she  had  come  back 
to  me,  back  where  she  belongs,  back  to  the 
true  wife's  place  beside  her  husband.  I  felt 
a  little  stab  of  pain  because  she  did  not  seem 
quite  as  exuberantly  happy  to  be  back  as  I 
had  supposed  she  would,  but  she  has  so 
many  interests,  so  many  friends,  so  many  at- 
tachments to  different  places,  that  she  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  feel  just  as  I  did. 

We  went  straight  to  the  hotel  where  I  had 
engaged  rooms,  and  it  was  a  real  joy  to  be 
able  to  register  for  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chester 
Clarke." 

264 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY, 

Feb.  18  —  Louise  gave  me  a  shock  today. 
We  were  talking  about  the  Coast.  She  told 
about  her  last  night  there.  Two  weeks  be- 
fore the  date  she  had  been  urged  to  stay 
for  the  Forty-Niner's  Ball,  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  events  of  the  season.  She  had 
pleaded  her  anxiety  to  return  East,  on  ac- 
count of  Ernest,  but  the  people  would  admit 
no  excuses,  and  she  had  at  last  yielded  to 
their  persuasions.  Did  she  yield,  I  wonder, 
with  any  very  great  reluctance?  She  could 
hardly  be  expected  to  realize  how  much  each 
day — each  hour — of  added  waiting  meant 
to  me.  A  person  with  so  glorious  a  self  as 
hers  has  more  right  than  the  rest  of  us  have 
to  be  selfish !  I  did  not  say  anything  to  her, 
but  it  did  —  and  it  does  —  seem  most  strange 
to  me  that  she  should  have  decided  on  this 
postponement  without  telling  me  just  what 
was  the  reason  for  it.  I  do  not  think  she 
meant,  really,  to  tell  me  about  it  even  now, 
but  it  slipped  out  in  the  course  of  our  con- 
versation. It  almost  seems  as  though  there 
had  been  something  to  conceal,  though  I  am 
absolutely  certain  that  there  is  nothing 
underhanded  about  it.  Perhaps  she  was  a 
little  bit  ashamed  of  herself  for  having  made 
me  wait  beyond  the  appointed  time! 
265 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY; 

I  imagine  this  Forty-Niners'  Ball  is  a 
pretty  gay  affair.  It  seemed  to  me  as  she 
described  it  that  she  might  be  toning  down 
the  colors  a  little.  I  don't  know — all  I  can 
say  is  that  it  left  me  feeling  uncomfortable, 
without  my  being  able  to  give  any  reason  at 
all  for  that  f eeling. 

The  thing  that  did  surprise  me  was  the 
fact  that  she  told  me  she  had  worn  one  of 
the  gowns  that  she  had  had  made  for  her 
trousseau. 

"  Why,  Louise,"  I  said,  "  I  thought  you 
were  not  to  wear  those  gowns  till  after  our 
public  wedding!" 

"Oh,"  she  said,  rather  carelessly,  I 
thought,  "  I  did  not  intend  to  do  so,  but  it 
is  such  a  beautiful  thing,  and  I  wanted  to 
make  my  very  finest  appearance  at  this  ball 
—  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  events  of  the  year 
out  there,  and  the  women  are  dressed  beau- 
tifully. There  was  n't  time  to  have  anything 
new  made,  and  this  gown  was  just  the  thing. 
I  made  a  hit.  It  was  very  much  admired. 
And,  you  know,  the  styles  change  so  fast 
that  by  the  time  we  are  ready  for  our  real 
wedding  it  would  be  quite  out  of  fashion.  I 
shall  have  something  new  for  that  occasion." 

This  was  a  facer  for  me!  I  had  always 
266 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

supposed  a  woman's  trousseau  was — well, 
shall  I  say  almost  a  part  of  the  wedding 
itself.  It  may  be  that  this  is  only  a  clumsy 
tradition  invented  for  women  by  men,  and 
not  their  own  idea  at  all. 

It  seemed  to  me  as  if  she  had  destroyed 
a  beautiful  symbol  —  and  we  cannot  destroy 
symbols  without  taking  some  of  the  bloom 
off  the  things  they  stand  for.  I  am  not  sen- 
timental, but  perhaps  for  that  very  reason 
such  things,  when  they  do  mean  something 
to  me,  mean  even  more  than  they  would  to  a 
person  who  habitually  makes  more  of  the 
small  things. 

I  must  have  shown  that  I  was  puzzled, 
perhaps  I  looked  even  grieved  or  offended, 
for  she  laughed  and  said :  "  Now,  you  fool- 
ish man!  Don't  look  like  that — I  shall 
have  a  new  gown  made,  just  as  lovely  as  that 
one  was." 

But  I  could  not  help  thinking  that 
her  laugh  was  —  oh,  just  the  least  bit  — 
strained,  as  if  she  had  not  herself  felt  ex- 
actly easy  over  it.  Very  likely  this  was  pure 
imagination.  At  any  rate,  the  incident 
made  it  clear  to  me  that  I  am  very,  very  far 
from  comprehending  the  woman  way  of 
looking  at  things. 

267 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Feb.  20.  One  of  those  incidents  hap- 
pened today  which  it  is  not  easy;  for  me  to 
understand.  .  .  . 

Here  Clarke  laid  down  the  diary.  He  had 
no  further  need  of  the  book  to  refresh  his 
memory.  He  could  picture  the  scene  in  his 
mind's  eye  and  hear  the  words  as  distinctly 
as  though  they  were  again  being  uttered. 

Alice  was  to  take  part  in  a  school  play. 
Her  special  invitation  to  him  to  be  present 
and  see  her  make  her  debut  had  been  warmly 
seconded  by  her  mother,  so  he  had  planned 
a  day  with  them. 

As  he  was  in  the  act  of  passing  the  open 
window  of  her  apartment,  he  overheard 
a  voice,  which  he  at  once  recognized  as 
Louise's,  saying: 

"  A  man  could  not  pay  a  woman  a  higher 
compliment  than  to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife. 
I  am  very  much  honored." 

Clarke  could  endure  no  more.  Unpleas- 
ant as  it  was  to  intrude,  he  felt  that  he  could 
not  retreat,  so  he  gave  the  bell  a  vigorous 
pull.  After  what  seemed  to  him  a  long 
delay,  the  door  opened  and  a  gentleman 
stepped  briskly  into  the  hall.  He  passed 
Clarke  without  a  glance  and  walked  out  of 
the  building. 

268 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

Louise  appeared  a  moment  later.  She 
met  him  with  wonderful  self-possession. 

"Why,  Chester!"  she  cried,  kissing  him, 
"  I  am  glad  that  you  came  just  as  you  did. 
You  have  relieved  me  of  a  most  embarrass- 
ing situation. 

"  Who  do  you  suppose  that  was  and  what 
do  you  suppose  he  was  doing  here? 

"  Well,  that  was  Doctor  Belknap  of  San 
Francisco  and  he  was  making  me  an  offer 
of  marriage." 

'Yes,  I  inferred  so  from  the  remark  I 
overheard  you  make  as  I  reached  your  door." 

"  Oh,  you  overheard  our  conversation. 
Then  you  perfectly  understand  that  I  did 
not  encourage  him  to  make  it.  In  fact  I 
was  quite  surprised  to  see  him  here.  Sit 
down  and  I  will  tell  you  about  it. 

'  You  will  remember  Alice  was  sick  while 
I  was  in  San  Francisco.  I  preferred  to  care 
for  her  myself.  I  called  in  Dr.  Belknap  — 
he  practices  in  a  very  exclusive  set  only,  is 
no  end  rich  and  swagger  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing  —  well,  he  came  a  number  of  times 
in  the  evening  and  made  rather  long  visits. 
I  didn't  think  anything  of  that.  Then  I 
called  him  in  after  midnight  once  or  twice. 
Of  course  he  saw  me  in  my  robe  de  chambre 
269 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

—  and  —  and  —  well,  I  thought  he  was  a 
little  affectionate  and  held  my  hand  rather 
long  while  he  was  showing  me  how  to  drop 
medicine — that,  I  think,  was  all — oh,  no  — 
the  next  morning  as  I  was  leaving  for  the 
East,  he  was  at  the  train  to  see  me  off,  and 
brought  a  gorgeous  bunch  of  flowers  with 
his  compliments.  And  here  he  is  today  to 
tell  me  that  he  simply  cannot  live  without 
me.  Now  you  have  the  whole  story." 

"Very  well,  dear,  let's  forget  it,"  said 
Clarke. 

"  But  I  do  think  it  is  the  strangest  thing 
how  you  men  misunderstand  a  woman." 

The  weeks  between  this  rather  remark- 
able incident  and  the  lonely  anniversary 
which  had  set  Clarke's  thoughts  on  the  back- 
ward track  had  been  quite  uneventful.  But 
it  was  impossible  not  to  see  that  there  had 
been  a  change  in  his  relations  with  Louise. 
It  was,  of  course,  only  temporary  and  super- 
ficial; but  it  was  just  alarming  enough  to 
make  him  more  resolved  than  ever  that  their 
public  and  official  wedding  should  be  cele- 
brated just  as  soon  as  that  miserable  busi- 
ness of  the  will  could  be  settled.  And  he 
resolved  that  the  settlement  must  be  has- 
tened. By  way  of  hastening  it,  he  sat  down 
270 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

at  his  desk  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Mr.  Malsby, 
in  which  he  urged  him  to  do  anything  he 
could  to  get  things  moving.  "I  tell  you, 
sir,"  he  wrote,  "this  thing  cannot  go  on 
this  way.  It  is  going  to  make  trouble  for 
us  if  it  is  not  disposed  of  soon." 


271 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  the  first  day  of  April  Louise  received 
a  telegram  from  her  father  from  To- 
peka:  "Come  at  once.     Ready  for  round 
up." 

On  the  second  day  of  April  Louise  left, 
well  pleased  to  be  moving  again  in  the  direc- 
tion of  her  newly  beloved  California. 

"  Ready  for  round  up  " :  that  meant  that 
the  will  was  about  to  be  signed.  One  step, 
and  a  good  long  one,  in  the  right  direction 
— toward  the  settling  of  this  most  difficult 
part  of  his  problem,  for  Clarke. 

He  could  picture  in  his  mind  the  scene: 
he  had,  when  in  Topeka,  made  one  call  at 
the  old  Willoughby  house.  Mr.  Willoughby 
had  been  the  possessor  of  a  very  distin- 
guished collection  of  John  Brown  papers, 
and  Mr.  Malsby  had  contrived  to  give 
Clarke  a  view  of  them.  He  had  not  seen 
the  old  lady,  but  Sharp  was  there,  and 
Clarke  could  imagine  what  figure  he  would 
cut  at  the  conference.  The  house  itself  had 
engaged  his  interest. 

272 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

The  parlors  and  sitting  room  opened 
from  either  side  of  a  broad  hall.  Heavy 
curtains  of  some  dark  colored  material  were 
at  the  windows,  hanging  from  brass-tipped 
wooden  rods  and  gathered  in  at  the  sides 
with  thick,  tasselled  cords.  There  were  no 
rugs ;  the  floor  was  covered,  from  baseboard 
to  baseboard,  with  brussels  carpet  of  a  huge 
flowered  pattern.  The  furniture  was  of 
heavy  black  walnut  —  a  ponderous  center 
table;  high  backed  chairs,  upholstered  in  an 
ornate  blue  brocade;  a  what-not,  carrying  a 
collection  of  "  curios."  And,  shades  of  by- 
gone discomforts,  in  the  sitting  room  he  dis- 
covered a  horsehair  sofa;  a  design  of  wax 
flowers  covered  by  a  glass  bell,  and,  promi- 
nently placed  on  the  center  table,  a  bulky, 
massively  bound  "  family  "  Bible. 

A  heavy  cornice  and  frieze  brought  ceiling 
and  walls  together.  Imposingly  dull  pic- 
tures hung  in  showy,  gilded  frames.  The 
companion  crayon  portraits  of  an  elderly 
man  and  woman  of  imposing  appearance 
Clarke  correctly  supposed  to  represent 
Father  and  Mother  Willoughby.  Could 
that  large  carved  music  box  on  its  stand  in 
the  corner  possibly  play  a  sentimental  tune 
from  "  Robert  le  Diable,"  or  such  a  dance  as 
273 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

might  animate  those  two  stiff -kneed  marble 
figures  flanking  the  folding  doors?  There 
they  stood,  giving  mute  testimony  of  some 
long-since  visit  of  the  elder  Willoughbys  to 
those  centers  of  Europe  where  a  certain  sort 
of  American  craving,  a  flattering  though 
misdirected  ambition  to  patronize  Art,  was 
formerly  gratified  with  a  discernment  more 
artistic  than  these  stiff  reminders  of  other 
days.  Everywhere  was  evidence  that  the 
house  had  been  furnished  quite  "  regardless 
of  expense" — no  doubt,  when  the  Wil- 
loughbys and  the  Willoughby  fortune  alike 
were  young.  Father  and  Mother  Wil- 
loughby had  apparently  indulged  then,  but 
never  since,  in  a  revel  of  up-to-dateness. 

The  house  stood  well  back  from  the  street, 
and  the  whole  place  was  encompassed  by  a 
highly  ornamental  iron  fence.  In  the  mathe- 
matically exact  center  of  the  lawn  on  one 
side  of  the  walk  an  iron  hound  stood  pa- 
tiently, ignoring  and  ignored  by  the  lofty 
antlered  iron  stag  in  the  mathematically 
exact  center  of  the  lawn  on  the  other  side. 
Metallically  constant,  metallically  indiffer- 
ent, they  gave  the  place  an  air  of  ironclad 
respectability.  The  flower  beds  were  laid 
out  in  Euclidean  patterns,  the  shrubs  were 
274 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

pruned  into  the  most  unnatural  forms  the 
mind  of  man  could  devise.  The  house  had 
three  stories,  with  a  mansard  roof,  and  was 
flanked  by  towers  ornamented  with  iron 
work. 

Clarke  could  visualize  easily  and  vividly 
the  meeting  of  the  parties  interested  in  the 
making  of  the  will.  It  would  be  a  rather 
sombre  affair.  There  would  be  the  old 
lady,  a  silent  and  somewhat  sinister  presence. 
There  would  be  the  sons  and  daughters, 
fearful  and  envious.  There  would  be  Sharp, 
greedy  and  shrewd,  playing  the  deep  game. 
There  would  be  the  Judge,  representing  the 
stern  majesty  of  the  law,  and  there  would 
be  Malsby,  alert  and  aggressive,  defending 
the  interests  of  his  grandchildren.  And 
Louise  —  what  a  contrast  she  would  make 
to  these  others! 

With  this  picture  clearly  fixed  in  his  mind, 
he  read  easily  between  the  lines  of  this  letter, 
which  he  received  from  Mr.  Malsby,  on 
April  9 : 

"TOPEKA,  KANSAS,  April  6. 
"DEAR  CHESTER:  — 

"You  doubtless  heard  from  Louise  that 
I  wired  her  on  the  first  to  come  out  here  to 
275 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  round  up,  so  it  will  be  no  news  to  you 
that  we  are  all  here  in  Kansas. 

"  In  order  to  relieve  your  mind  of  any 
apprehension  at  the  start,  let  me  say  that  I 
have  good  news  —  damned  good,  too.  We 
have  roped  and  branded  the  steer,  and  the 
will  is  executed  to  our  satisfaction.  Let  me 
tell  you  about  it. 

"  As  you  know,  I  have  been  watching  for 
an  opening  to  land  on  Sharp.  Well,  it  came 
last  fall,  sooner  than  I  had  expected,  and  I 
hit  out  from  the  shoulder.  I  did  n't  let  you 
in  on  it  then,  because  I  wasn't  sure  that  it 
would  come  to  anything.  He  put  an  ad  in 
the  paper  for  an  assistant  bookkeeper,  and 
I  immediately  wired  a  New  York  detective 
agency  to  send  me  their  best  man.  He 
came,  a  fellow  named  Smiley,  got  his  in- 
structions from  me,  and  applied  for  the  job. 
After  looking  him  over,  he  proved  to  be  just 
the  man  Sharp  wanted — good  at  figures, 
but  a  cringing  sort  of  a  galoot  in  other  ways. 

"  Sharp  set  him  to  work.  After  he  had 
got  the  run  of  the  place,  he  began  at  odd 
times  to  look  over  the  old  accounts.  He  fol- 
lowed up  a  good  many  blind  trails  before  he 
struck  anything  that  proved  interesting  — 
but  he  got  there  at  last.  He  found  on  one 
276 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

of  the  stubs  of  a  check  book,  on  a  Kansas 
City  bank  where  the  concern  kept  most  of 
its  funds,  a  check  made  payable  to  Father 
Willoughby  for  $50,000.  This  was  drawn 
a  few  days  before  the  old  man  died.  There 
was  nothing  to  arouse  suspicion  except  the 
size  of  the  check. 

"  Smiley  wondered,  and  set  about  find- 
ing out  what  the  old  man  had  done  with  so 
large  a  sum.  He  located  the  check,  after 
some  hunt,  and  found  that  it  had  been  en- 
dorsed in  blank  and  paid  over  the  counter. 
As  Father  Willoughby  hadn't  been  out  of 
the  house  for  a  month  before  he  died,  it  was 
clear  that  he  couldn't  have  cashed  it  in. 

"  There  was  nothing  in  the  books  to  show 
that  the  funds  had  been  used  subsequently 
in  the  business.  At  this  stage  of  the  inves- 
tigation I  went  to  Topeka — that  was  two 
weeks  ago  —  and  took  a  hand  in  it.  None 
of  the  family  knew  anything  about  the 
matter. 

"Of  two  handwriting  experts,  one  gave 
it  as  his  opinion  that  the  endorsement  was 
genuine;  the  other  was  sure  that  it  was  a 
forgery — so  much  for  that.  The  bank 
officials  had  no  distinct  recollection  of  pay- 
ing it,  but  were  all  agreed  that  they 
277 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

not  have  paid  so  large  a  sum  to  any  one  but 
Sharp  without  confirmation.  He  was  fre- 
quently in  Kansas  City  on  business  for  the 
Works,  and  it  was  a  common  occurrence  for 
him  to  present  similar  checks  for  collection 
—  though  not  usually  for  anything  like  so 
large  a  sum.  It  was  evident  that  Sharp 
had  got  the  money,  but  we  couldn't  learn 
anything  more. 

"  I  concluded  to  put  him  through  a  third 
degree.  I  invited  him  around  one  evening 
and  put  it  up  to  him.  I  gave  him  to  under- 
stand that  I  knew  just  what  he  did  with  the 
money,  and  I  preached  him  a  little  sermon 
on  the  Commandment,  '  Thou  shalt  not 
steal.'  I  might  say  that  I  expounded  the 
Scriptures  to  him,  as  one  having  authority, 
not  as  the  scribe.  Being  a  church  member 
in  good  and  regular  standing,  he  showed  the 
greatest  interest  in  all  that  I  said.  Then  I 
read  him  an  extract  from  the  Penal  Code 
of  the  State  of  Kansas  setting  forth  in  un- 
mistakable terms  the  penalty  in  such  cases 
made  and  provided.  This  also  seemed  to 
impress  him  deeply.  In  fact  he  asked  if  I 
would  object  to  opening  a  window  and 
letting  in  a  little  air. 

"When  I  got  through,  I  gave  him  his 
278 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

choice,  either  to  spend  the  night  in  jail  or 
to  cooperate  with  me  in  securing  the  execu- 
tion of  Mother  Willoughby's  will  upon  the 
understanding  that  if  he  made  the  latter 
choice  I  would  keep  his  little  secret.  He  was 
to  insist,  however,  that  his  wife  receive,  under 
the  terms  of  the  will,  fifty  thousand  dollars 
less  than  her  distributive  share  of  the  estate 
on  account  of  the  debt  of  gratitude  which  he 
owed  Father  Willoughby.  I  told  him  that 
I  would  let  him  explain  that  in  his  own  way. 
I  made  it  clear  that  if  he  failed  to  secure 
this  provision  in  the  will,  he  and  I  would  n't 
be  able  to  do  business. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  clan 
gathered,  and  the  will  was  duly  executed 
yesterday,  and  is  now  lodged  in  the  office  of 
the  Probate  Court  for  this  county. 

"You  would  have  thought  it  well  worth 
the  price  of  a  trip  out  here  and  back  to  have 
heard  Sharp's  explanation  of  the  reason  why 
his  wife  should  discount  that  fifty  thousand. 

"  Father  Willoughby  had  been  more  than 
a  father  to  him,  he  said ;  had  helped  him  in- 
vest his  savings,  which  investments  had  been 
very  profitable,  and  shortly  before  he  died 
had  made  him  a  munificent  gift  in  token  of 
his  esteem,  and  appreciation  of  his  faithful 
279 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

services.  In  recognition  of  all  this,  his  wife 
joined  him  in  insisting  that  they  should  re- 
ceive fifty  thousand  dollars  less  than  her 
proportionate  share  of  the  estate  —  it  would 
be  a  comparatively  small  discount  anyway; 
they  would  have  more  than  enough. 

"  Sharp  had  already,  as  of  course  you 
understand,  made  his  position  clear  to 
Mother  Willoughby,  who,  no  doubt,  had 
resolved  to  make  it  up  to  *  dear  John '  some 
other  way,  but  to  Louise  and  the  other  Wil- 
loughbys  sitting  about  it  was  so  to  speak 
first-hand  information.  You  should  have, 
seen  their  faces — they  were  all  bowled  over 
—  hadn't  a  word  to  say — and  they  haven't 
recovered  yet. 

"As  we  left  the  house,  Judge  Pike  said 
to  me,  'Malsby,  what's  the  answer?'  and  I 
replied,  '  There  is  n't  any,  Judge.' 

"  So  now,  my  boy,  the  winter  of  your  dis- 
content is  about  to  be  changed  to  glorious 
summer,  as  Mark  Twain  or  some  other 
literary  fellow  has  put  it,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 

:'  Very  truly  yours, 

"ROBERT  MALSBY. 

"  P.S.  Louise  and  I  leave  for  San  Fran- 
cisco tonight." 

280 


CHAPTER  V 

letter  from  Mr.  Malsby  was  like 
a  great  eraser  sweeping  over  the  black- 
board on  which  Chester  Clarke  had  been 
writing  the  record  of  his  life,  the  hand  of 
fate  holding  his  fingers,  but  the  inscription 
was  not  at  all  what  he  would  have  made  it 
had  his  auctorial  will  been  subject  to  no  such 
editorial  control.  Now  the  board  had  been 
swept  clean,  the  writing  was  to  begin  anew, 
and  he  had  high  visions  of  what  was  to  be 
inscribed. 

Happier  than  he  had  been  for  weeks,  he 
dashed  off  a  note  to  Louise: 

"BOSTON,  April  9,  19 — . 
"  MY  BELOVED  OXE  :  — 

"  I  am  just  in  receipt  of  your  father's  long 
and  all  important  letter.  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  I  have  looked  forward  to  this  day  — 
what  it  means  to  me.  Thank  God  that  this 
long  wait  is  over  at  last !  I  only  hope  that  I 
have  lived  up  to  all  that  you  expected  of  me 
for  your  sake  and  that  of  the  children — that 
281 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

their  interests  are  secured  and  that  they  will 
in  due  time  come  into  their  own. 

"And  now  it  is  our  turn!  Write  me  as 
soon  as  you  are  able  to  do  so  the  date  on 
which  you  will  announce  our  engagement  in 
order  that  it  may  appear  simultaneously  in 
the  Boston  and  California  papers  —  also  how 
long  do  you  think  it  will  take  to  arrange  the 
wedding? 

"  Personally  I  am  not  at  all  particular 
about  a  grand  celebration,  and  especially  if 
it  entails  further  delay;  but  that  is  for  you 
to  determine,  and  I  suppose  your  dear  Dad 
will  want  to  do  us  proud. 

"  I  shall  need  just  notice  enough  to  en- 
able me  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements 
to  be  absent  from  my  office  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  for  I  suppose  we  will  return  East  by 
easy  stages  —  say  a  run  to  the  National 
Park,  then  to  Niagara  Falls,  or  if  the  season 
is  too  early  for  these  places,  we  could  come 
home  by  the  Southern  route,  stopping  off  at 
San  Antonio  and  New  Orleans.  Are  you  a 
good  sailor?  We  could  take  a  steamer  from 
New  Orleans  to  New  York.  It 's  a  wonder- 
ful voyage.  The  steamers  are  first  class. 
We  '11  have  the  time  of  our  lives ! 

'You  should  have  seen  me  when  I  got 
282 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

your  father's  letter.  I  was  dictating  to  my 
stenographer — a  very  proper  young  lady. 
I  said,  '  Can  you  dance? '  I  didn't  wait  for 
her  answer.  I  grabbed  her  and  with  a 
'  waltz  me  round  again,  Willie,'  I  sailed  in. 
Well,  I  won't  tell  you  what  she  said  but  I 
am  afraid  I  Ve  lost  caste  with  the  office 
force.  I  just  slipped  a  cog,  that  was  all; 
but  can  you  blame  me? 

"Kiss  little  Alice  for  me.  Keep  a  few 
for  yourself  and  believe  me 

'Your  devoted, 
"CHESTER." 

And  this  was  the  reply: 

"  MY  DEAR  CHESTER  :  — 

"  We  reached  home  Thursday  night.  The 
trip  was  uneventful.  On  the  train  father 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  gentleman  from 
Berkeley  who  was  very  polite  to  us.  Each 
morning  there  was  a  beautiful  bunch  of 
flowers  at  my  breakfast  plate.  No  offer  of 
marriage,  however,  as  yet. 

"We  have  had  a  host  of  callers.  The 
Senator  came  to  pay  his  compliments  the 
first  afternoon  and  to  tell  us  how  much  he 
had  missed  us.  He  stayed  to  dinner  and 
after  that  we  had  the  piano  moved  out  onto 
283 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  veranda.  While  he  and  Alice  made 
themselves  cosy  on  a  lounge,  I  improvised  to 
them  in  the  moonlight. 

"  I  think  after  reading  your  letter  that 
you  must  indeed  have  '  slipped  a  cog,'  as  you 
put  it.  Now  I  hope  that  you  won't  be  too 
much  disappointed,  but,  dear  boy,  don't  you 
see  that  you  have  lost  your  sense  of  the 
eternal  fitness  of  things? 

"  If  there  was  n't  anything  to  prevent,  I 
could  n't  get  ready  for  our  wedding  in  a  day. 
There  are  a  lot  of  things  that  a  woman  has 
to  do  when  she  is  going  to  be  married  of 
which  you  men  know  nothing  and  there  are 
matters  out  here  to  be  arranged. 

"But  putting  them  all  aside,  there  is 
Mother  Willoughby  still  to  be  considered. 
It  wouldn't  do  at  all  for  us  to  marry  the 
day  after  that  will  was  signed !  It  would  be 
such  a  faux  pas,  so  transparent.  It  might 
undo  all  that  we  have  thus  far  accomplished. 

"  She  would  know  at  once  that  we  had 
been  concealing  our  relations  from  her 
against  that  event,  that  I  had  been  deceiv- 
ing her  for  who  shall  say  how  long,  and  she 
would  never  forgive  me.  Could  you  blame 
her?  She  is  a  very  shrewd  old  lady — very 
clever,  and  I  might  say  very  vindictive  once 
284 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

she  is  roused.  You  see  in  a  day,  with  the 
stroke  of  a  pen,  she  can  cut  the  children  off. 
It  is  still  in  her  power  to  give  her  property 
away  in  her  lifetime;  or  a  codicil  to  her  will, 
as  you  perfectly  well  know,  would  deprive 
them  of  their  father's  share. 

"  The  other  Willoughbys  would  all  profit 
by  just  that  much,  and  there  isn't  one  of 
them  that  wouldn't  be  glad  of  it.  You  see 
they  were  willing  to  make  common  cause 
with  father  against  the  common  enemy, 
Sharp.  Now  that  they  have  got  what  they 
wanted  out  of  Sharp  and  their  mother,  they 
wouldn't  hesitate  to  combine  with  him  to 
make  off  with  Ernest's  and  Alice's  share. 

"  They  have  a  very  good  argument  to  ad- 
vance to  Mother  Willoughby — my  children 
will  come  into  the  property  their  father  left 
and  will  also  inherit  the  whole  of  my  father's 
estate  some  day  —  that  alone  is  ample  — 
all  that  is  good  for  them. 

"In  my  last  talks  with  Mother  Wil- 
loughby at  Topeka  she  hinted  at  all  this  and 
gave  me  to  understand  that  the  bequest  to 
the  children  in  her  will  was  a  sort  of  shrine 
to  their  father's  memory  where  we  three 
were  to  go  every  day  to  worship.  It  follows, 

of  course,  that  if  we  failed  to  place  our  daily 
285 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

libations  on  the  altar,  the  Goddess  would 
grow  angry  and  withhold  her  blessing. 

"No,  my  dear,  you  will  have  to  possess 
yourself  in  patience  a  while  longer.  I  think 
it  was  Milton  who  said,  '  They  also  serve 
who  only  stand  and  wait.'  You  have  been 
such  a  patient  waiter;  and  I  always  know 
that  I  can  ask  anything  of  you,  anything; 
that  you  will  make  any  sacrifice  for  my 
sake  —  because  you  love  me. 

"We  must  let  time  enough  pass  before 
Mrs.  Willoughby  hears  of  you  so  that  she 
may  infer  that  you  came  into  my  life  after 
the  execution  of  the  will  —  that  our  rela- 
tions are  not  in  any  way  related  to  that 
event. 

"  Then  you  must  give  me  time  to  get  her 
reconciled  to  the  idea  of  my  marrying  again, 
to  win  her  over  as  I  did  the  children.  That 
means  four  or  five  months  at  least.  If  you 
really  insist  upon  my  naming  the  day,  I  will 
fix  upon  September  fifteenth.  That  is  my 
father's  birthday.  He  would  be  so  pleased 
to  have  us  honor  his  birthday  by  making  it 
our  wedding  day  —  don't  you  see,  the  cele- 
bration could  be  made  a  joint  affair,  and  we 
do  owe  so  much  to  dear  father,  who  brought 
about  this  whole  settlement. 
286 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"So  cheer  up ;  the  intervening  time  need 
not  hang  so  heavily  on  your  hands.  I  shall 
be  coming  East  in  June  to  fetch  the  children 
home  and  you  can  spend  your  summer  vaca- 
tion, just  as  much  time  as  you  can  afford  to 
be  away,  with  us  here  in  California.  We  can 
take  the  children  and  go  off  into  the  moun- 
tains, camping  out — it  would  be  ideal.  Be- 
fore you  were  aware  of  it  the  summer  would 
be  gone. 

"  Now  have  n't  I  outlined  a  very  sensible 
plan?  I  am  quite  sure  that  you  will  agree 
that  I  have  when  you  recover  from  your 
first  sense  of  disappointment. 

"  Poor  dear  father  is  not  well  and  we  had 
hardly  moved  into  the  house  before  mother 
began  to  nag  him.  In  some  way  I  always 
seem  to  be  involved  in  their  quarrels.  This 
time  it  was  about  father's  sanctum. 

"  I  had  arranged  the  furniture  and  placed 
the  couch  as  I  thought  to  the  best  advantage 
where  he  could  get  the  view  when  he  was 
lying  down,  but  mother  thought  that  my 
arrangement  broke  up  the  symmetry  of  the 
room,  which  is  another  way  of  expressing 
what  I  call  primness,  and  so  it  goes. 
"  With  much  love, 

"  LOUISE." 
287 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

When  Clarke  received  this  letter,  as  was 
to  be  expected,  he  was  depressed,  and 
groaned  aloud,  "  How  long,  O  Lord,  how 
long!"  He  sat  very  still  for  an  hour,  his 
face  buried  in  his  hands,  thinking  it  all  out. 

For  more  than  a  year  now  he  had  held 
himself  together.  He  had  adapted  his  own 
ideas  and  movements  to  the  demands  made 
upon  him.  He  had  played  the  game.  He 
had  done  it  admitting  that  the  reasons  for 
the  course  of  action  demanded  of  him  had 
been  consistent  and  rational,  but  he  had  done 
so  upon  the  understanding  that  when  the 
Willoughby  will  should  finally  be  signed 
that  was  to  be  the  end  of  it. 

He  had  never  thought  of  this  new  phase 
of  the  situation ;  it  had  never  been  even  hinted 
before.  Now  he  was  asked  to  continue  for 
five  months  longer  what  seemed  to  him  in 
a  sense  a  farce.  It  was  really  asking  too 
much,  but  the  reasons  advanced  were  as 
rational  and  potent  as  those  offered  for  the 
original  arrangement;  and  Clarke's  mind 
was  a  logical  one. 

What  other  course  was  there  to  pursue? 

He  could  not  take  advantage  of  the  absolute 

mastery  of  the  situation  which  his  relations 

with  Louise  gave  him  to  compel  her  to  any 

288 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

other  course.  His  sense  of  chivalry  would  n't 
admit  of  that,  and  besides,  even  to  suggest 
such  a  thing  would  be  to  destroy  her  love 
for  him.  She  was  too  imperious  to  be 
coerced — too  devoted  to  what  she  regarded 
as  her  children's  interests  to  be  reasoned 
with. 

Therefore  Clarke  decided  once  more  to 
continue  playing  the  game. 


289 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  structure  of  Chester  Clarke's  hap- 
piness had  been  reared  with  startling 
swiftness.  He  had  thought  it  would  last 
as  long  as  life.  Now  he  began  to  have  mo- 
ments of  vague  but  none  the  less  distressing 
doubt  as  to  the  merit  of  the  architecture. 
Had  he  been  building  castles  in  the  air? 
Were  they  to  vanish  on  the  breath  of  the 
wind  of  adverse  fate?  No ;  at  least  not  with- 
out an  obstinate  endeavor  on  his  part  to 
forestall  such  a  catastrophe. 

Letters  from  the  West  came  more  and 
more  infrequently,  and  each  was  less  richly 
loaded  with  words  of  endearment,  less  fra- 
grant with  the  shared  spirit  of  his  hope.  It 
was  crushing  to  receive  a  letter — if  it  could 
be  called  a  letter — like  this:  " Dear  —  I  can 
only  write  a  line,  as  I  am  going  with  a  party 
of  friends  to  San  Bardou.  We  expect  to 
have  a  jolly  evening  of  it,  and  as  it  is  nearly 
time  to  start,  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  read 
between  the  lines.  Louise."  Read  between 
the  lines  —  ah,  if  he  could  only  keep  from 
doing  that  very  thing !  There  were  few  lines, 
290 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

but  there  was  room  between  them  for  so 
much,  so  very  much,  that  he  did  not  want  to 
read!  People  who  read  between  the  lines 
of  letters  are  apt  to  read  more  than  they 
should,  but,  even  allowing  a  proper  discount 
for  this,  Clarke  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart 
to  rejoice  over  such  a  letter.  He  was  hurt. 
Was  all  the  joy  in  life,  so  nearly  attained, 
thus  to  slip  away,  eluding  his  eager  grasp, 
and  leave  him,  like  a  drowning  man,  clutch- 
ing with  impotent  hands  at  empty  air? 

Early  in  June,  Louise  wrote  she  was  about 
to  leave  for  the  East,  to  spend  the  rest  of 
the  month  with  the  children.  At  the  end  of 
the  school  year  she  was  to  take  them  home 
with  her.  He  wired  immediately,  hoping  to 
catch  her  before  she  started ;  but  a  telegram 
came  from  Mr.  Malsby,  saying:  "  Your  wire 
missed  Louise  by  two  hours.  Try  at  other 
end." 

He  wrote  a  letter,  addressed  to  her  at  the 
up- State  town  where  she  had  her  apartment 
when  with  the  children.  He  expressed  his 
joy  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  her  again  so 
soon.  "  Write  me  when  and  where  to  meet 
you  in  New  York,"  he  said ;  "  and  name  the 
earliest  possible  day.  I  'm  starving  for  an- 
other sight  of  you." 

291 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

Immediately  came  a  telegram :  "  Have  had 
message,  Father  sick.  Am  leaving  for  San 
Francisco  tomorrow.  Too  bad." 

"  Too  bad."  Clarke  studied  himself  sick 
over  that  telegram. 

In  her  next  letter  she  said:  "No  doubt 
you  were  surprised  when  I  hurried  home 
without  seeing  you.  But  you  will  perfectly 
understand!  Father  seems  much  better, 
now  that  we  are  all  here.  His  illness  is  not 
at  all  alarming,  but  of  course  I  cannot  do  as 
much  going  about  as  formerly.  I  shall  lead 
a  very  quiet,  domestic  life  till  he  is  better." 

"  *  Surprised? '  '  Understand? '  I  wish  to 
God  I  could  understand  either  more,  or  less, 
perfectly!" 

But  the  end  was  not  yet.  In  the  next 
letter  she  wrote: 

"The  vacation  plan  will  have  to  be 
changed.  Mother  Willoughby  has  just 
written  that  she  will  visit  us  out  here,  and 
says  she  will  be  with  us  July  15.  Isn't 
it  strange  that  she  should  have  selected  the 
exact  date  on  which  you  had  expected  to 
arrive? 

"Of  course,  you  will  see  that  it  would 
hardly  do  for  you  to  come  when  she  is  here. 
We  could  not  take  our  trip  to  the  moun- 
292 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY, 

tains,  as  I  shall  be  obliged  to  devote  all  of 
my  time  to  her.  We  shall  simply  have  to 
postpone  your  visit.  I  know  that  you  will 
be  patient,  and  it  is  a  great  comfort  to  have 
this  assurance.  I  believe  you  literally  when 
you  say  that  you  put  my  happiness  before 
your  own,  and  so  I  can  call  upon  you  for 
this  small  sacrifice  without  fear  of  your  being 
too  much  put  out  with  the  circumstances 
which,  as  I  am  sure  you  will  see,  make  it 
absolutely  necessary. 

"  With  regret,  I  am,  as  ever, 

"Yours, 
"LouisE." 

:< Patient?'    Yes  —  as  patient  as  a  man 
can  very  well  be  under  such  circumstances." 

During  these  weeks  Clarke  lived  in  con- 
stant apprehension.  He  was  unhappy  all 
day,  and  restless  all  night.  He  could  not 
be  alone  in  comfort.  He  tried  a  trip  down 
on  the  Cape;  but  there  was  no  satisfaction 
in  it  for  him.  So  evening  after  evening  he 
went  to  the  club,  dined  alone,  or  with  a 
friend  or  two,  and  afterward  wandered  aim- 
lessly through  the  house.  Gradually  he  fell 
into  the  habit  of  settling  down  for  the  even- 
ing in  the  reading  room. 
293 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

Once  he  picked  up  a  copy  of  a  San  Fran- 
cisco weekly,  the  Golden  Gate.  It  lay  on  a 
table,  open  at  the  page  of  "  society  notes." 
He  ran  his  eye  carelessly  down  the  columns, 
but  found  nothing  of  interest;  and  by  ten 
o'clock  he  was  on  his  way  home. 

Night  after  night  he  gravitated  to  that 
reading  room.  Now  and  again  a  malignant 
fate  seemed  to  lay  under  his  questing  hand 
that  phosphorous  sheet,  the  Golden  Gate. 

He  despised  the  life  reflected  in  its  pages. 
A  shallow  life.  A  life  that  sparkled  only 
because  it  had  no  stability.  A  life  that  chose 
to  forget  the  past,  that  took  no  heed  of  the 
future,  that  lived  only  for  the  joy  of  the 
present  moment :  like  a  worm  eating  its  way 
to  the  heart  of  a  rose. 

At  first  he  did  not  think  of  it  as  distinctly 
a  San  Francisco  paper,  it  was  simply  a 
mirror  held  up  to  a  certain  kind  of  living 
practiced  by  a  group  of  people  everywhere, 
in  every  city.  But  gradually  it  began  to 
claim  a  place  as  a  San  Francisco  message; 
and  all  of  a  sudden  the  fact  leaped  to  recog- 
nition that  these  blatantly  celebrated  person- 
ages of  the  gay  world  were  fellow  towns- 
people of  his  Louise;  that  she  was  making 
her  great  success  among  them.  That  gave 
294 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

them  a  new  interest,  and  a  certain  claim 
upon  his  consideration.  They  couldn't  be, 
after  all,  quite  such  a  bad  lot — quite  so 
worthless  —  as  he  had  been  making  them 
out.  Then  it  dawned  upon  him  that  if  her 
social  triumphs  were  as  pronounced  as  re- 
ported, of  necessity  this  paper  would  make 
mention  of  them.  With  that  thought  in 
mind  he  began  to  run  it  over,  then  to  read 
it,  divided  between  a  sort  of  fascination  that 
it  had  for  him  and  a  sense  of  shame  at  re- 
sorting to  such  a  method  of  possibly  obtain- 
ing information  as  to  her  movements. 

One  evening  Clarke,  who  had  been  skim- 
ming the  items  carelessly,  suddenly  sat  up 
straight  in  his  chair.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  a  paragraph  that  stood  out  as  though 
it  had  been  printed  in  red  ink. 

"  Senator  Hooper  gave  a  gay  party  Tues- 
day night,  at  the  Poodle  Dog.  His  protegee, 
the  charming  widow  from  somewhere  to 
the  East  of  us,  Mrs.  Walter  Willoughby, 
made  the  big  hit  of  the  occasion.  It  is 
whispered — " 

The  words  burned  in  Chester  Clarke's 
mind.  Damn  these  whispering  people! 
What  right  had  they  to  whisper  about  his 
wife! 

295 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

From  that  memorable  evening  Clarke 
ceased  to  dodge  the  Golden  Gate  as  he  had 
been  doing.  He  yielded  to  its  spell  and 
week  after  week  sought  it  out  and  read 
paragraphs  like  this : 

"The  Hawaiian  party  last  night  broke 
all  records  for  frolics  in  this  frolicsome 
Coast.  Mrs.  W.  W.,  the  heartbreaking 
widow  from  the  Sunflower  State,  again 
carried  off  the  laurels.  A  distinguished 
former  statesman  of  national  reputation, 
whom  we  need  not  name,  scored  another 
triumph.  His  protegee,  the  lovely — "  and 
so  on,  till  Clarke  could  hardly  read  the 
dancing  letters  for  mingled  sorrow  and 
anger.  The  wretched  sheet  had  him  in  its 
grip.  It  tortured  him — more  when  he  did 
not  see  it  than  when  he  had  it  in  his  hand. 
What  would  it  say  next?  No  use  telling 
himself  it  really  had  said  nothing,  as  yet. 
The  damnable  insinuation  of  its  clever  word 
juggling  tormented  him.  Not  that  it  in- 
criminated Louise !  She  was  its  victim.  But 
the  insouciant  deviltry  of  it,  the  libel  against 
mankind,  the  cynical  reliance  upon  verbal 
ambiguity,  the  defiance  of  that  decency 
which  is  not  explicated  in  penal  codes ! 

And  then  a  date  caught  his  attention. 
296 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

He  copied  out  an  item,  and,  hurrying  back 
to  his  rooms,  feverishly  turned  over  his 
precious  file  of  letters  from  Louise.  Find- 
ing the  letter  he  sought,  he  sat  staring  at 
it.  The  date  it  bore  and  the  statement  it 
contained  —  "I  missed  the  nicest  party  last 
night,  staying  at  home  to  nurse  Father  "  — 
were  hopelessly  belied  by  the  record  in  the 
Golden  Gate.  Had  she  misstated  the  fact? 
Had  the  paper  misprinted?  Why,  in  the 
Devil's  name,  should  she  misrepresent? 
How  could  the  paper  err  in  so  routine  a 
matter  of  its  business?  No  need  to  follow 
Clarke's  mind  in  its  tortuous  way  to  the 
cold  conclusion  that  it  was  no  concern  of  his, 
that  this  was  not  a  nettle  he  need  grasp,  or 
could  gain  by  grasping.  "Trust — and  be 
true ! "  He  would  live  up  to  the  motto,  what- 
ever happened. 

Finally  the  wretched  business  came  to  a 
climax.  One  evening,  seeking  his  paper, 
he  found  it  being  passed  from  hand  to  hand. 
The  two  or  three  men  were  amusing  them- 
selves over  a  picture. 

"  The  female  form  at  its  divinest,"  said 
one. 

"Female  form  grotesque,"  growled  a 
misogynist.  "It's  only  the  draperies  that 
297 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

save  it.  A  few  dry  goods  work  wonders," 
added  the  cynic. 

"  Well,"  said  another  man,  "  I  'm  hanged 
if  I  believe  the  real  Juno  had  anything  on 
this  one ! " 

"Neither  of  'em  had  much  on,"  said  the 
cynic. 

Clarke  tiptoed  out  of  the  room. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  the  group  had 
dispersed  and  the  reading  room  had  settled 
down  once  more  to  its  normal  calm,  he  re- 
turned. He  picked  up  the  Golden  Gate, 
and  looked  at  the  picture. 

Of  course  —  it  was  Louise.  She  was 
Juno  —  a  bold,  dark,  lovely  goddess. 

An  article  accompanied  the  picture,  link- 
ing with  hers  the  Senator's  name.  The 
writer  insinuated  the  existence  of  a  compact ; 
the  man's  wealth  and  power,  the  woman's 
beauty — and  power.  Quid  pro  quo.  There 
was  not  a  suggestion  of  anything  "im- 
moral." She  was  the  old  man's  toy;  and  he 
was  her  very  useful  patron,  her  "  promoter." 

It  was  almost  farcical.  Tragedy,  in  real 
life,  is. 

Clarke  went  home  and  wrote  a  long  letter 
to  Louise.  He  dragged  his  weary  body  to 
bed;  lay  a  long  while  thinking,  then  got  up 
298 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

and  destroyed  the  letter.  He  would  write 
again  in  the  morning,  when  he  could  think 
better,  and  express  himself  more  clearly  and 
calmly. 

But  in  the  morning  came  a  letter  from 
Louise  that  changed  the  world  for  him. 


299 


CHAPTER  VH 

OUISE  wrote: 

"SAN  FRANCISCO,  July — ,  19 — . 
"  MY  DEAE  LOVE  :  — 

"I  haven't  slept  any  for  three  nights. 
Last  night  I  cried  all  the  night  long.  I 
cannot  endure  it  any  longer.  I  must  write 
and  ask  you  to  let  me  go. 

"  I  love  you  just  as  much  as  I  ever  did. 
I  have  always  loved  you.  I  shall  always  love 
you,  but  it  is  never  going  to  be  possible  for 
me  to  do  what  you  wish,  to  carry  out  the 
plans  that  we  have  made ;  there  are  too  many 
obstacles  in  the  way.  I  could  never  do  it 
and  be  happy.  If  I  tried,  I  should  only 
ruin  your  life  and  mine  and  make  others 
who  are  dependent  upon  me  unhappy.  I 
could  never  make  you  a  good  wife.  I  am 
very  much  out  of  health.  I  am  all  broken 
down  nervously. 

"  Then  there  are  the  children.    They  have 
never  been  reconciled  to  the  idea  of  my 
marrying  you.    If  they  had  been,  I  should 
300 


have  married  you  long  ago.  I  have  tried  — 
oh,  how  hard  I  have  tried — to  win  Ernest 
but  he  is  impossible;  he  says  that  he  won't 
live  in  the  house  with  us,  that  it  is  n't  doing 
right  by  his  dead  father,  that  I  as  good  as 
promised  him  on  his  deathbed  that  I  would 
not  marry  again,  that  I  had  always  said  I 
would  not  marry  unless  he  (Ernest)  ap- 
proved. 

"  The  children  have  become  attached  to 
this  place,  they  are  happy  here,  they  don't 
want  to  go  away,  they  have  made  friends 
here,  they  say  they  won't  come  East  to  live. 

"Then  there  is  my  father — my  poor 
father.  He  is  feeble,  so  broken,  and  he  clings 
to  me.  He  will  go  on  suffering  rather  than 
ask  mother  to  do  anything  for  him.  How 
could  I  desert  him?  It  would  be  cruel. 
Oh,  how  hard  I  have  tried  to  find  a  way  out ! 
I  have  prayed  and  prayed  for  help. 

"Now  I  must  appeal  to  you  —  you,  my 
love;  you  must  help  me,  you  must  save  me. 
You  have  said  you  loved  me  as  no  man  ever 
loved  a  woman,  that  you  would  do  anything 
for  my  sake,  would  make  any  sacrifice. 
Have  n't  you  said  so  a  hundred  times,  *  any 
sacrifice'?  I  think  you  once  said  'even  to 
life  itself.'  This  isn't  quite  so  bad  as  that, 
301 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

is  it  ?  I  never  thought  that  I  should  put  you 
to  the  test,  that  I  should  ask  you  to  give  me 
up,  but  it  has  come  to  that — there  is  no 
other  way. 

"  Nobody  knows  of  our  true  relations  ex- 
cept old  Mrs.  Giese,  and  she  doesn't  have 
to  be  considered.  She  need  never  see  you 
and  me  again,  and  there  is  no  one  to  whom 
she  would  ever  mention  us.  Of  course  if  it 
were  worth  the  trouble  I  could  disabuse  her 
mind  of  any  ideas  that  might  have  lodged 
there.  She  would  do  anything,  or  think  any- 
thing for  me.  She  is  old  and  feeble ;  she  will 
soon  be  gone  and  the  secret  she  has  been 
keeping  for  us  will  die  with  her. 

"  Now,  dear,  I  do  not  mean  to  love  you 
less ;  I  never  could  if  I  should  try.  I  never 
want  to,  and  I  never  want  you  to  love  me 
less.  I  only  want  you  because  you  do  love 
me  enough,  because  you  are  big  enough  and 
strong  enough  to  make  the  sacrifice,  to  con- 
sent to  cancelling  all  our  promises  and  plans. 
Tell  me  that  you  will.  Oh,  how  I  shall  love 
you  for  it,  and  we  shall  be  to  one  another 
just  as  we  always  have  been !  You  will  come 
out  to  see  us  sometimes,  and  when  I  am  East 
I  can  let  you  know. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  beloved !  Though  my 
302 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

heart  aches  to  breaking,  it  still  says  I  love 
you !    I  love  you ! !    I  love  you ! ! ! 

"LouisE." 

Clarke  was  in  his  private  office  alone  when 
he  received  this  crushing  blow.  The  con- 
tents of  all  letters  during  the  last  month, 
together  with  the  excerpts  of  her  activities 
which  he  had  read  at  his  Club  from  the 
Golden  Gate,  her  failure  to  meet  him  when 
East,  had  stirred  him  to  the  depths  of  his 
soul,  and  filled  him  with  ominous  forebod- 
ings, but  he  had  not  expected  anything  quite 
so  appalling  as  this.  A  certain  numbness 
of  his  faculties  came  over  him.  He  felt 
faint  and  dizzy.  He  could  hear  the  click, 
click  of  the  typewriter  in  the  main  office,  he 
could  see  upon  his  desk  the  brief  which  he 
had  been  working  upon  when  the  letter  was 
handed  in,  but  he  was  powerless  to  con- 
centrate his  thoughts  or  control  his  faculties. 

At  length  with  a  masterly  effort  he  roused 
himself,  took  his  hat  and  coat  and  descended 
to  the  street.  He  made  his  way  up  Court 
Street  to  Tremont  and  along  that  thorough- 
fare. The  usual  crowds  were  thronging  the 
sidewalk  and  the  Mall,  but  he  recognized  no 
one.  Presently  he  found  himself  opposite 
303 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  Touraine.  It  was  here  that  he  had  been 
in  the  habit  of  coming  for  years  for  his  hair- 
cut. "  Joe  "  had  a  wonderfully  sympathetic 
touch  and  in  all  these  years  he  had  come  to 
esteem  him  as  a  friend.  He  needed  a  friend 
now,  —  not  one  of  his  own  set,  but  a  man  of 
elemental  parts.  Besides,  he  was  conscious 
of  a  heavy  throbbing  in  his  head;  and  so 
he  found  his  way  to  the  barbershop  and 
"Joe's  "chair. 

'  You  are  not  looking  well,  Mr.  Clarke," 
said  Joe,  a  kindly  concern  in  his  voice. 
"What  can  I  do  for  you?" 

"  Give  my  head  a  good  rubbing;  I  have  a 
headache,  I  think." 

That  was  all  he  remembered  until  he 
found  himself  coming  out  of  an  unconscious 
state,  and  recognized  Joe  bathing  his  face 
with  alcohol  and  holding  a  bottle  to  his  nose. 

"  What  has  happened? "  he  inquired,  with 
a  surprised  expression. 

'  You  fainted,"  Joe  said.  "  I  saw  that 
you  were  not  yourself  today  the  moment 
you  came  in." 

Under  Joe's  ministrations  he  was  grad- 
ually brought  around  and  after  a  time  left 
the  hotel  with  his  mental  faculties  once  more 
restored. 

304 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

One  after  another  the  facts  and  circum- 
stances which  would  have  led  a  more  sus- 
picious man,  or  one  possessing  less  faith, 
to  conclude  that  this  letter,  this  evident  de- 
termination to  repudiate  her  marriage  con- 
tract, was  what  might  have  been  expected, 
marshalled  themselves  in  grim  array.  But 
Chester  Clarke  was  unconvinced. 

His  theory  of  life  had  been  to  trust  peo- 
ple, to  believe  every  man  innocent  until  he 
had  been  proved  guilty.  Better,  he  had 
said,  to  be  deceived  and  betrayed  now  and 
then,  than  to  go  through  this  world  sus- 
pecting everybody  and  standing  on  guard 
against  mankind. 

He  had  given  his  all  into  this  woman's 
keeping.  He  would  never  break  faith  with 
her,  believing  that  she  was  equally  true  to 
him  and  that  nothing  short  of  death  itself 
could  separate  them. 

Her  letter,  he  assured  himself,  must  have 
been  written  under  some  aberration  of  mind 
or  temporary  discouragement.  She  would 
recover  from  that  and  in  another  mood  would 
retract  these  words  and  beg  his  pardon  for 
having  distressed  him.  He  would  get  such 
a  letter  by  an  early  mail,  and  so  reasoning, 
he  sent  her  a  speedy  reply: 
305 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  BOSTON,  July  — ,  19 — . 
"  MY  DEAR  LOVE  :  — 

"  I  received  your  letter  of  the  12th.  Of 
course  you  do  not  mean  what  you  have  wrrt- 
ten.  My  sweetheart  is  tired,  ill,  depressed, 
something  has  gone  wrong  with  her.  Before 
this  letter  has  reached  her  she  will  be  her  old 
self  again  —  and  she  will  write  me  one  of  the 
sweetest  letters  in  the  world. 

"  I  am  very  much  worried  about  you  be- 
cause I  think  you  have  been  carrying  too 
much  of  a  load.  That  matter  of  the  will 
has  worn  on  you  —  perhaps  this  is  the  reac- 
tion. Now  I  have  good  broad  shoulders 
and  you  are  to  unload  all  of  your  troubles 
onto  me ;  that  is  what  a  husband  is  for.  I  am 
quite  sure  that  Ernest  would  not  stand  in 
the  way  of  your  happiness  if  he  fully  real- 
ized the  gravity  of  such  an  attitude.  When 
we  are  once  settled  in  Boston  and  he  has 
taken  on  new  interests  —  has  entered  a 
school  preparatory  for  college  —  he  will  see 
things  from  an  entirely  different  point  of 
view;  and  what  better  place  is  there  than 
Boston  in  which  to  have  a  girl  grow  up  ? 

"As  a  last  resort,  assuming  that  there 
were  no  other  solution,  I  should  be  willing 
to  pull  up  stakes  here  and  settle  in  San 
306 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

Francisco.  It  would  have  to  be  with  the 
understanding,  however,  that  I  was  to  pur- 
sue the  same  course  of  life  there  as  here.  I 
should  open  an  office  and  begin  the  practice 
of  law  over  again.  I  am  too  much  wedded 
to  my  profession  and  work  to  be  contented 
with  an  idle  existence.  With  my  New  Eng- 
land training,  I  couldn't  brook  anything 
less. 

"  Have  a  stout  heart,  my  Beloved.  We 
will  find  a  way  or  make  one. 

"  Ever  your  devoted, 

"  CHESTER." 

Men  are  apt  to  think  that  the  things  they 
desire  will  really  come  to  pass.  For  ten  days 
Chester  Clarke  sought  out  every  mail  for 
the  letter  that  never  came.  The  reply  which 
his  appeal  did  receive  ran  as  follows : 

"  SAN  FRANCISCO,  July  — ,  19 — . 
"  MY  DEAR  CHESTER  :  — 

"  How  difficult  it  seems  for  you  to  under- 
stand me!  How  hard  you  make  it  for  me! 
I  have  tried  to  have  you  realize  that  I  can- 
not carry  out  our  plans,  and  I  have  appealed 
to  the  great  love  you  professed  for  me  as 
an  assurance  of  your  assent  to  my  deter- 
mination. You  have  failed  me! 
307 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  It  is  useless  for  us  to  enter  into  a  con- 
troversy over  the  matter.  Do  let  us  part 
at  least  as  friends  if  we  cannot  as  lovers. 
I  wish  you  all  the  happiness  that  can  possibly 
come  to  one  in  this  world.  You  are  free. 
Some  day  you  will  find  a  woman  who  will 
take  my  place  in  your  affections.  I  shall 
never  marry.  Do  not  think  that  you  alone 
are  to  suffer.  I  would  spare  you  if  I  could. 

"  Goodbye. 

"LOUISE." 


308 


CHAPTER 

; XT' OU  have  failed  me!"  It  would  be  of 
J[  no  avail  to  parley  any  further ;  Chester 
Clarke  realized  that.  The  temple  of  his 
hopes  had  fallen,  burying  him  beneath  its 
ruins,  but  he  had  dug  himself  out  and  now 
sat  looking  about. 

There  was  no  human  eye  to  cast  a  glance 
of  pity,  no  human  hand  extended  to  help 
him  rise,  no  human  tongue  to  speak  a  word 
of  counsel.  He  was  alone  —  alone  to  con- 
template the  ruins,  to  work  out  his  own 
salvation;  and  not  his  alone  but  that  of  the 
woman  who  sought  to  throw  him  over. 

It  was  a  simple  matter  to  interpret  the 
situation.  Louise  had  loved  him;  she  had 
loved  him  to  the  full  capacity  of  her  being 
to  love  any  one  man.  When  she  had  met 
him  she  was  hungry  for  just  such  an  affec- 
tion as  he  had  to  offer.  As  a  corollary  to 
that  affection  stood  all  the  inducements  of 
a  life  in  a  cultured  city  and  in  the  social 
set  in  which  Clarke  moved.  In  comparison 
with  the  condition  of  her  previous  mar- 
309 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

ried  life  in  Topeka,  nothing  could  be  more 
desirable. 

There  was  no  obstacle  to  this  end  that 
was  not  temporary  and  that  could  not  be 
overcome.  Had  her  parents  remained  in 
Kansas  all  would  have  been  well.  The  love 
of  admiration,  praise,  and  social  recognition 
which  was  both  inherent  in  her  nature  and 
essential  to  her  happiness,  might  have 
been  gratified  in  Boston  within  reasonable 
bounds.  But  her  experiences  in  California, 
the  sensuous  character  of  the  climate  and 
life,  the  adulation  with  which  she  had  been 
received,  the  luxury  of  the  new  house,  had 
entered  into  her  veins  and  like  a  prairie  fire 
had  swept  all  before  it. 

Under  the  influence  of  this  spell  she  now 
proposed  to  Clarke  to  treat  their  secret  and 
informal  marriage  as  if  it  had  never  been, 
and  she  had  relied  upon  Clarke's  great  love 
for  her  and  upon  his  sense  of  chivalry,  as  she 
interpreted  chivalry,  to  keep  the  secret  and 
permit  her  to  pursue  the  alluring  tenor  of 
her  ways.  And  he  had  told  her  he  would 
make  any  sacrifice  for  her! 

What  duty  did  he  owe  her?  This  was  the 
question  which  his  New  England  conscience 
put  to  him.  This  was  the  question  that  cost 
310 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

him  several  days  and  nights  of  agony  and 
doubt,  and  that  caused  him  at  last  to  write : 

"  MY  DEAR  LOUISE  :  — 

"I  received  your  ultimatum  of  July  — 
and  I  have  a  counter  statement  to  submit. 

"  I  have  thus  far  appealed  to  your  affec- 
tions and  to  the  higher  sentiments  of  your 
nature,  as  to  what  I  felt  certain  would  be 
the  sure  guides  to  your  conduct,  but  I  seem 
to  have  appealed  in  vain. 

"It  is  with  extreme  reluctance  and  only 
as  a  last  resort  that  I  am  now  forced  to  con- 
sider our  relations  from  a  different  stand- 
point. Would  to  God  that  you  had  not 
forced  me  to  it !  You  propose  to  ignore  our 
marriage  relations,  and  you  ask  me  to  do 
the  same.  I  reply  that  that  is  impossible. 
A  common  law  marriage  is  just  as  binding 
—  yes,  more  binding,  more  sacred,  than  a 
public  one,  and  for  the  reason  that  it  de- 
pends for  its  sanctity  upon  the  honor  and 
good  faith  of  those  who  enter  into  it. 

"  Neither  you  nor  I  can  annul  it.  It  has 
passed  beyond  our  control  into  the  jurisdic- 
tion of  the  law.  I  could  n't  consent  to  your 
repudiating  it  even  if  I  were  disposed  to 
do  so,  which  I  am  not.  I  shall  never  lend 
311 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

myself  to  such  a  suggestion,  no  matter  what 
the  results.  You  must  acknowledge  our 
union  or  by  some  method  I  shall  promul- 
gate it. 

"I  cannot  compel  you  to  live  with  me, 
nor  do  I  wish  to  against  your  desire.  I 
should  love  to  have  you,  if  you  come  will- 
ingly. You  may,  at  some  future  day  if  you 
wish,  bring  proceedings  in  court  to  annul 
our  marriage.  That  is  the  only  way  that  is 
open  to  you.  I  shall  give  you  an  oppor- 
tunity to  reconsider  your  decision,  and  to 
write  me  to  that  effect.  If  I  do  not  hear 
from  you  within  two  weeks,  I  shall  feel  at 
liberty  to  adopt  such  a  course  of  action  as 
my  judgment  dictates.  In  the  meantime, 
I  remain  ready  to  accept  any  plan  that  is  in 
consonance  with  this  letter. 

"  There  is  no  bitterness  in  my  heart,  only 
sorrow  that  our  beautiful  bark  should  be 
so  near  the  rocks. 

"May  I  suggest  that  you  consult  your 
father  and  mother  and  any  other  trusted 
counselor  available. 

"Yours  devotedly, 

"  CHESTER." 

This  precipitated  an  exchange  of  letters 
and  telegrams  in  the  following  order: 
312 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  SAN  FRANCISCO,  July  — ,  19 — . 
"  CHESTER  CLARKE,  ESQ. 
"  State  Street,  Boston. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  to  compel  me  either 
to  announce  our  ceremony  in  New  York 
as  our  marriage  or  go  through  a  public  cele- 
bration out  here. 

"And  to  what  purpose?  Is  it  simply  to 
confirm  an  idea  of  your  own,  or  is  it  deliber- 
ately to  ruin  my  life  and  make  my  children 
wretched?  I  couldn't  drag  them  East  and 
I  don't  see  where  you  fit  in  out  here  —  cer- 
tainly not  in  this  house. 

"  Considering  that  you  are  altogether  to 
blame,  responsible  for  the  existing  condi- 
tions, I  should  think  that  you  would  be  just 
a  little  ashamed  to  take  advantage  of  them 
to  coerce  me.  My  conscience  is  perfectly 
clear  in  this  matter  and  I  am  praying  and 
putting  my  trust  in  God.  He  will  not  for- 
sake me. 

"  I  am  not  decided,  as  yet,  whether  I  shall 
show  your  letter  to  my  father  and  mother, 
or  tell  you  to  go  ahead  and  do  your  worst. 
In  whatever  I  do  I  shall  be  guided  by  the 
children's  best  interests  —  and  mine. 

"L." 
313 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  SAN  FRANCISCO,  July  — ,  19 — . 
"  CHESTER  CLARKE,  ESQ. 

"  State  Street,  Boston. 
"Delay  taking  any  action.    I  am  reply- 
ing to  your  last  letter  to  Louise. 

"HANNAH  MALSBY." 

"SAN  FRANCISCO,  July — ,  19 — . 
"  CHESTER  CLARKE,  ESQ. 

"  State  Street,  Boston. 
"SiR:  — 

"  How  could  you  write  such  a  letter  to  my 
daughter  as  you  have  —  you  who  profess  to 
be  a  Boston  gentleman?  What  has  she  done 
to  you  that  you  should  be  so  cruel  to  her? 
I  shouldn't  suppose  that  any  man  would 
want  to  force  a  woman  to  live  with  him 
against  her  will.  And  how  could  you  have 
the  heart  to  attempt  to  blacken  her  charac- 
ter? You  will  not  succeed  in  it.  She 
has  never  done  you  any  harm.  You  have 
brought  nothing  but  misery  into  this  family. 
My  husband  is  ill  and  Louise  has  been  made 
prostrate  by  this  blow. 

"  HANNAH  MALSBY." 

"  BOSTON,  July  — ,  19 — . 
"  DEAR  MRS.  MALSBY  :  — 

"Your  letter  has  been  received. 
314 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"I  am  not  attempting  to  sully  your 
daughter's  character,  I  am  attempting  to 
save  it.  She  will  not  deny  the  relations  ex- 
isting between  us  which  my  letter  to  her 
discloses.  It  would  be  useless  to  do  so.  No 
one  could  regret  more  than  I  do  that  any 
unhappiness  should  be  brought  upon  you 
and  Mr.  Malsby. 

"  My  decision  is  unalterable. 

;<  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  CHESTER  CLARKE." 

"  SAN  FRANCISCO,  July  — ,  19 — . 
"  CHESTER  CLARKE,  ESQ. 

"  State  Street,  Boston. 
"  Consider    everything    restored    to    our 
former  understanding.     Will  meet  you  at 
Old  Curiosity  Shop,  Wednesday,  July  — . 

"LouisE." 

Chester  Clarke  had  arrived  in  New  York. 
It  was  the  day  before  his  tryst  with  Louise. 
He  had  gone  down  a  day  in  advance  to 
transact  some  business  and  to  spend  the 
night  at  the  Lawyers  Club,  where  he  was  to 
dine  with  a  friend. 

The  two  had  sat  up  well  into  the  night  in 
an  atmosphere  surcharged  with  the  ele- 
315 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

ments  of  the  law.  Pictures  of  distinguished 
English  and  American  Judges  and  of  his- 
torical scenes  hung  upon  the  walls.  There 
was  the  Trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  the  Trial 
of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  the  Trial  of  Charlotte  Cor- 
day,  and  half  a  dozen  others. 

The  conversation  of  the  men  about  them 
was  heavy  with  legal  phraseology. 

At  length  Clarke  had  bade  his  friend 
good  night  and  retired  to  his  room,  glad  to 
be  alone  while  his  subconscious  mind  was 
dwelling  constantly  upon  Louise  and  their 
coming  meeting  with  its  uncertain  outcome. 
He  lay  awake  for  some  time,  turning  the 
situation  over  and  wondering  whether  she 
had  had  a  real  awakening,  whether  she  still 
loved  him,  whether  a  happy  married  life 
would  still  be  possible. 

At  length  he  slept,  for  two  or  three  hours 
perhaps;  and  then  there  was  a  moment  of 
confusion  and  he  found  himself  sitting  up 
in  bed  and  staring  wildly  about,  trying  to 
recall  where  he  was,  for  he  had  come  out  of 
a  most  realistic  dream. 

Had  it  been  a  dream  or  a  vision?     He 

seemed  to  have  been  in  a  court  room,  lofty 

and  spacious.    He  sat  at  a  table  within  the 

bar.    On  the  wall  above  the  Judge's  bench 

316 


was  a  coat  of  arms  and  on  it  the  motto, 
"  Eureka."  He  remembered  distinctly  hav- 
ing read  that.  At  a  table  on  the  right  side 
of  the  enclosure  Louise  sat  with  her  counsel. 
The  room  was  crowded  with  an  audience 
mostly  of  fashionably  dressed  women.  At 
a  long  table  just  without  the  bar  sat  a  row 
of  newspaper  reporters,  one  of  whom,  a 
woman,  he  could  see  was  making  a  sketch  of 
Louise. 

He  turned  to  look  at  the  man  beside  him ; 
it  was  his  old  college  friend,  Triggs  — 
Triggs  who  had  opened  a  law  office  in  San 
Francisco  twenty  years  before  and  who  had 
won  fame  in  one  of  the  Lucky  Baldwin 
will  cases. 

A  door  beside  the  bench  opened  and  the 
Judge  was  ushered  in.  There  was  an  air 
of  expectancy  in  the  faces  of  all  present. 
He  took  his  seat,  and  after  a  moment  or  two 
devoted  to  wiping  and  adjusting  his  spec- 
tacles, he  began  to  read: 

"  In  the  case  of  Chester  Clarke  vs.  Clara 
Louise  Clarke,  Petition  for  the  Annulment 
of  a  Marriage  Contract,  the  Court  finds  — 

"  In  the  case  of  Chester  Clarke  vs.  Clara 
Louise  Clarke,  Petition  for  the  Annulment 
of  a  Marriage  contract,  —  the  Court  finds 
317 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

—  "  here  Clarke  was  able  to  recall  the  next 
words:  "that  a  Common  Law  marriage  in 
New  York  is  any  mutual  agreement  be- 
tween the  parties  to  be  husband  and  wife." 

"  In  the  case  of  Chester  Clarke  vs.  Clara 
Louise  Clarke,  Petition  for  the  Annulment 
of  a  Marriage  Contract,  the  Court  finds  — 
he  said  it  over  and  over  again,  trying  to  re- 
member what  more  the  Court  had  found, 
what  it  was  the  Judge  had  said.  It  was  not 
a  long  opinion.  He  was  sure  of  that  be- 
cause it  was  all  over  so  soon.  The  whole 
scene  of  his  dream  could  not  have  taken  over 
'five  minutes.  He  had  awakened  as  the 
Judge  rose  to  leave  the  bench. 

"  Chester  Clarke  vs.  Clara  Louise 
Clarke."  He  was  the  plaintiff,  then;  he 
was  the  petitioner  for  the  annulment  of 
their  marriage.  Now  he  recalled  how  sur- 
prised he  had  been  to  find  himself  in  court 
seeking  to  annul  their  marriage.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  it  was  the  last  thing  he  would 
be  doing.  The  Judge  had  dismissed  the  bill 
and  there  was  something  about  costs,  the 
Costs  of  Court.  He  had  lost  his  case,  evi- 
dently, if  the  bill  was  dismissed. 

Clarke  went  over  the  whole  scene  again, 
step  by  step,  making  a  supreme  effort  to 
318 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

concentrate  his  mind  and  bring  back  the 
Judge's  words.  He  failed,  save  and  except 
that  a  statute,  some  statute,  had  figured  in 
the  finding;  it  had  something  to  do  with 
the  Judge's  decision.  It  must  have  been 
the  ground  for  dismissing  the  bill.  But 
what  statute?  Could  there  be  one  affecting 
his  petition  for  the  annulment  of  a  marriage 
at  common  law? 

"Good  God,"  he  cried,  "could  there  be 
one  that  had  made  his  marriage  to  Louise 
null  and  void ! " 

The  thought  was  intolerable.  He  jumped 
from  his  bed  and  hastened  to  the  open  win- 
dow. Gradually  the  vision  faded  and  real- 
ity took  its  place. 

The  first  gray  streaks  of  the  dawn  were 
in  the  sky.  They  touched  the  higher  points 
of  the  city  buildings  while  the  streets  them- 
selves still  lay  in  shadow. 

Clarke  heard  the  rattling  of  a  passing 
vehicle  in  the  street  far  below;  there  were 
other  sounds  that  heralded  the  coming  day, 
but  the  voice  of  the  Judge  in  his  dream  was 
still  in  his  ear. 

A  shiver  ran  through  him.    The  morning 
air  was  chill  and  he  returned  to  bed.    He  lay 
there  trying  to  collect  his  thoughts. 
319 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

That  a  common  law  marriage  —  any  mu- 
tual agreement  between  the  parties  to  be  hus- 
band and  wife  in  prcesenti — had  been  legal 
in  New  York  for  many  years,  he  knew  by  a 
number  of  decisions  of  the  State  Courts,  but 
a  statute  might  well  have  been  passed  by  the 
legislature  and  his  attention  never  have  been 
called  to  it.  No  lawyer  pretended  to  know 
the  statute  law  of  any  State  except  his  own, 
and  even  in  his  own  State  a  statute  might 
well  have  escaped  his  notice.  Such  a  con- 
tingency had  not  occurred  to  him.  He 
would  know  the  truth  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning. 

The  opening  of  the  Law  Library  found 
him  at  the  door. 

He  took  down  a  codification  of  the  Acts 
of  the  Legislature  and  ran  through  them  in 
feverish  haste.  Sure  enough,  there  it  was; 
and  as  he  read  it,  section  by  section,  he  was 
made  aware  that  the  learned  Judge  of  his 
vision — dream  —  trance  —  call  it  what  you 
will,  had  quoted  correctly. 

It  provided  that  a  marriage,  in  order  to 
be  legal,  must  be  solemnized  before  a  clergy- 
man, minister,  leader  of  The  Society  for 
Ethical  Culture,  Mayor,  Judge  of  a  Court 
of  Record  and  various  other  officials,  or  be 
320 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

entered  into  by  written  contract  with  two 
witnesses  and  acknowledged  before  a  Judge 
of  a  Court  of  Record. 

Hence  Louise  was  not  his  wife  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  law!  For  a  moment 
he  was  startled,  almost  shocked,  at  the 
thought,  but  he  rallied  quickly,  for  his  con- 
science was  absolutely  clear  in  the  matter. 
Each  had  entered  into  the  contract,  such  as 
it  was,  freely  and  believing  beyond  doubt 
that  it  made  them  man  and  wife.  There  had 
therefore  been  no  intentional  violation  of 
the  moral  code.  As  for  the  rest,  had  he 
not  been  hoping,  praying,  demanding  that 
their  marriage  be  made  public  ?  Was  there 
less  reason  for  him  to  do  so  now? 

But  what  of  Louise?  How  would  she 
treat  such  a  piece  of  information?  She  had 
telegraphed  him  that  their  relations  were 
restored,  which,  in  the  light  of  his  demands, 
must  have  meant  that  she  would  yield  to 
them.  It  only  remained  to  decide  when  and 
how. 

If  he  told  her,  would  it  change  her  atti- 
tude? He  failed  to  see  why  it  should, 
further  than  to  make  her  insistent  that  a 
public  ceremony  should  take  place  as  a  con- 
firmation of  her  own  good  faith,  and  the  in- 
321 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

surance  of  her  honor.  If,  upon  their  meet- 
ing, there  was  a  complete  reconciliation  and 
understanding  and  she  proposed  to  arrange 
at  once  for  a  public  wedding,  would  he  not 
be  justified  in  withholding  this  information 
as  something  that  at  best-would  only  tend  to 
distress  her,  and  to  no  purpose? 

And  here  again  the  New  England  con- 
science and  sense  of  duty  came  into  its  own. 

To  withhold  would  be  to  conceal  some- 
thing that  she  had  the  right  to  know,  no 
matter  if  the  only  result  was  a  negative  one, 
so  Clarke  started  for  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop 
resolved  to  tell  her. 


322 


CHAPTER  IX 

MERE  existence  may  be  measured  satis- 
factorily in  terms  of  time,  but  for 
living  there  is  no  adequate  method  of  men- 
suration save  by  units  of  experience.  Forty 
years  of  placid  being  may  leave  the  rustic's 
poll  thatch  unflecked  with  white,  while  in  as 
many  hours  the  savior  —  or  the  wrecker  — 
of  a  nation  becomes  bowed  and  gray  as  if 
broken  by  the  weight  of  years.  In  the  crises 
of  life  an  hour,  a  day,  a  week  may  pass  like 
a  moment;  and  a  moment  may  enfold  an 
eternity  in  the  history  of  a  soul. 

Chester  Clarke  was  now  engulfed  in  one 
of  these  undimensioned  deeps  of  experience. 
Physical  facts  were  without  his  conscious 
ken,  his  actions  and  reactions  were  auto- 
matic responses  to  the  stimuli  of  various 
contacts  with  the  material  world  about  him. 
He  dwelt  in  a  timeless  universe  of  the  mind. 

His  whole  conscious  being  centered  upon 
one  thing,  the  crisis  in  his  relations  with 
Lou  fee,  and  here  it  was  acutely  conscious  — 
it  was,  in  fact,  one  clear,  white  flame  of  con- 
sciousness. He  moved  in  the  light  of  a 
323 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

lambent  love.  His  spirit  had  found  its 
mate;  some  factor  in  the  chemistry  of  souls 
had  prevented  the  blend  of  the  affinitive  ele- 
ments, and  he  must  make  this  last  endeavor 
to  eliminate  that  factor  from  the  formula. 

That  it  would  be  the  last  endeavor  there 
could  be  no  doubt.  In  this  interview  there 
could  be  no  equivocation,  no  concealment, 
no  evasion.  The  husks  of  pretense  and  mis- 
understanding must  be  stripped  off  and  cast 
aside,  and  the  inner  kernel  of  truth  exposed. 

If  he  found  his  hopes  had  been  false ;  if  it 
were  the  fact  that  he  had  mistaken  tinsel  for 
pure  metal:  what  then?  Clarke  confronted 
this  possibility  with  firm  self-control.  That 
he  could  admit  its  possibility  showed  how 
deep  were  the  black  waters  into  which  he  had 
been  plunged.  Admitting  it,  he  proved  his 
mettle  by  characteristically  ignoring  the  ex- 
istence of  such  means  of  escape  as  have 
often,  in  similar  circumstances,  revealed 
themselves  temptingly  to  men  of  softer 
substance.  He  recognized  the  possibility  of 
great  grief  ahead ;  but  his  thoughts  took  no 
tinge  of  the  color  of  despair.  He  had  a 
woman's  sensitiveness  to  pain,  but  he  had 
also  the  courage  of  a  truly  strong  man. 

In  such  a  state  of  mind  Clarke  went  to 
324 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

meet  Louise,  externally  calm  and  controlled, 
but  buffeted  and  bruised  by  cruel  fore- 
bodings. 

He  came  to  the  Giese  house.  Its  front 
was  a  little  more  dingy,  its  external  premise 
of  internal  dilapidation  a  little  more  unmis- 
takable. The  shingle  that  commemorated 
the  vocation  of  the  departed  Hans  was  shab- 
bier, and  hung  on  a  slant,  sharing  the  preva- 
lent decay.  What  an  odd  asylum  for  the 
remnant  of  Chester  Clarke's  hopes!  He 
did  not  stop  to  frame  a  wish  forf ending  the 
omen,  but  went  steadily  up  the  steps  and 
rang  the  bell. 

Mrs.  Giese  came  to  the  door.  She  had  not 
changed.  She  was  evidently  lingering  on, 
buoyed  on  the  lonely  sea  of  her  life  by  the 
one  animating  purpose  of  her  existence;  to 
keep  things  just  as  they  were,  just  as  old 
Hans  had  left  them. 

She  wasted  no  words  in  greeting.  She 
was  expecting  Clarke. 

"Come  in,  sir,"  she  said.  "Your  wife 
is  in  her  old  room;  she  is  not  well,  she  is  a 
sick  lady.  Everything  is  just  as  it  was." 

The  words  echoed  in  the  gloomy  hall: 
"Just  as  it  was."  And  as  Clarke  passed 
through  the  apartment,  the  walls  gave  forth 
325 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

the  same  faint  odor  of  mouldy  age,  the  par- 
lor revealed  to  his  passing  glance  the  same 
musty  array  of  useless  antiquities,  every- 
thing was  "just  as  it  had  been."  Every- 
thing? At  the  door  to  Louise's  room 
he  paused  a  moment:  Everything?  He 
went  in. 

Louise  was  in  bed.  Her  dark  hair  lay  in 
loose  masses  over  the  pillow.  In  the  dim 
light  she  seemed  wan  and  worn.  He  was 
sure  that  she  had  been  crying;  she,  who  was 
so  strong,  so  imperiously  resolute  in  refusing 
to  be  battered  by  the  adversities  of  fate! 
A  great  wave  of  pity  swept  over  him. 

"Louise!"  he  called:  and,  kneeling  by 
the  bed,  as  once  she  had  knelt  by  his,  he  put 
his  arms  about  her  and  whispered  words  of 
endearment. 

She  lay  a  moment  in  his  embrace,  arid  it 
seemed  to  him  that  even  yet  all  must  be  well, 
the  bad  dream  come  to  an  end. 

Then  she  withdrew  herself,  and  let  her 
head  fall  back  upon  the  pillow.  For  a  mo- 
ment she  shook  with  soundless  sobbing,  and 
Clarke  felt  the  agonies  that  can  rend  a 
strong  man's  soul. 

"  Oh,  Chester,"  she  cried,  "  how  could  you 
do  it,  how  could  you  do  it! " 
326 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

The  words  brought  him  back  suddenly  to 
the  world  of  realities.  The  problem  had  not 
been  dissipated  in  the  flood  of  tender  feeling. 
There  was  love  in  her  reception  of  his  greet- 
ing; her  action  had  been  too  swift  and  sure 
to  be  premeditated,  to  be  anything  but  the 
spontaneous  expression  of  her  nature.  He 
steeled  himself  for  the  battle  with  the  cruel 
thing  that  lay  back  of  this  strange,  obstinate 
denial  of  the  true  self  made  manifest  in  her 
first,  natural  act. 

He  arose,  and  seated  himself  in  a  chair 
a  few  feet  away.  It  was  like  moving  out  of 
the  territory  of  the  heart  into  the  colder 
region  of  the  brain.  And  he  felt  that  Louise 
also  recognized  the  change,  and  was  meeting 
it  with  a  corresponding  mental  shift. 

"  Now,"  he  said,  steadily  enough,  "  we 
have  got  to  settle  this  thing.  We're  at  a 
fork  in  the  road,  Louise,  and  we've  got  to 
decide  which  way  we're  going  to  travel — 
and  whether  we  go  together,  or — "  he  hesi- 
tated ever  so  slightly,  then  went  on  firmly — 
"  or  whether  we  take  separate  ways." 

"  It  depends  very  largely  on  you."  She 
spoke  in  a  monotone,  without  inflection. 

"Louise!" 

"Yes.  You  have  created  this  situation. 
327 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

Why  did  you  do  it?  When  I  was  so  happy, 
when  things  were  going  so  nicely!  Why 
could  you  not  wait  —  " 

"  I  did  wait!  I  have  waited,  and  waited, 
and  waited.  I  have  accepted  one  postpone- 
ment after  another.  I  did  not  like  the 
secret  engagement  —  " 

"Why  did  you  accept  it,  then?" 

"  I  accepted  it  for  your  sake.  I  accepted 
it  for  the  children's  sake.  And,  having  ac- 
cepted it,  I  stood  by  the  agreement  faith- 
fully, as  long  as  the  circumstances  that 
brought  it  about  continued  to  exist.  But 
when  the  will  was  made,  when  the  children 
were  provided  for  and  had  been  won  over  to 
the  idea  of  our  marriage,  when  every  obstacle 
had  been  removed,  then  it  became  unjust 
and  unreasonable  for  you  to  require  me  to 
go  on  waiting,  and  then  I  asked  for  an  early 
date  for  our  public  wedding— 

"But,  Chester,  I  have  told  you  why  it 
could  not  be !  Mother  Willoughby  still  had 
power  to  cut  the  children  off  —  Ernest  was 
not  really  reconciled  to  my  remarrying — 
father  was  not  well  —  I  was  so  settled  in 
California,  and  so  far,  in  every  way,  from 
Boston  —  I  did  not  want  to  marry  you  till 
everything  was  right." 
328 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"To  marry  me!"  Clarke  repeated,  "we 
were  married,  or  at  least  we  believed  we 
were."  Clarke  made  the  last  statement  with 
so  strange  an  inflection,  it  carried  such  an 
implication  of  doubt  that  Louise  was  startled 
into  the  suspicion  of  something  under  the 
surface  of  his  words. 

"  Why  do  you  speak  in  that  queer  way?" 
she  asked. 

"Queer  way?"  he  repeated  the  words 
automatically.  Then  he  spoke,  with  close 
attention  to  his  own  choice  of  words : 

"Louise,  listen  carefully  to  what  I  have 
to  tell  you.  Our  fate  depends  on  what  you 
make  of  it. 

"  I  wrote  you  that  we  were  married  in  the 
sight  of  God  and  man,  that  our  wedding 
was  a  holy  sacrament,  and  a  legal  bond." 

She  sat  up  in  bed  and  stared  at  him.  For 
the  settlement  of  any  issue  less  vital,  the 
scene  would  have  made  a  grotesque  setting. 
But  neither  of  the  protagonists  had  heed 
for  such  matters. 

"  Well  ? "  she  said.  The  hardly  restrained 
eagerness  in  her  voice  hurt  Clarke  through 
and  through.  It  was  crucifixion  for  him. 

"Well,"  he  said  heavily,  "in  my  view 
then,  ever  since,  and  ever  more  —  that  cere- 
329 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

mony,  in  this  house,  before  the  altar  you  had 
made,  bound  you  to  me  and  me  to  you  with 
a  tie  as  sacred  and  indissoluble  as  any  vow 
ever  registered  at  any  altar  of  Almighty 
God." 

He  spoke  with  deep  earnestness.  His 
voice  and  air  were  those  of  a  prophet  whose 
words  were  winged  with  inspiration. 

"  As  long  as  I  live,  and  whatever  happens, 
you  are,  you  shall  be,  the  wife  of  my  heart. 
Nothing  can  rob  me  of  that  belief." 

He  fell  back  into  a  more  prosaic  utterance. 

"  Now  for  the  crux  of  it  all.  I  believed 
that  we  were  legally  married.  I  supposed, 
with  a  perfect  honesty  you  will  not  wish 
or  dare  to  impugn,  that  the  common  law 
marriage  still  held  good  in  New  York. 
I  have  only  just  discovered  that  I  was 
wrong;  that  a  statute  has  been  passed  an- 
nulling such  marriages,  that  there  must  be 
a  contract,  legally  executed. 

"  In  one  word,"  he  concluded,  "  I  have 
learned — what  does  not  change  my  own 
conviction  but  does  undeniably  alter  the 
legal  quality  of  our  relations  —  I  have 
learned"  (it  took  supreme  courage  to  pro- 
nounce the  words)  "that  you  and  I  are  not 
married  in  the  eye  of  the  law — " 
330 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

"Oh,  Chester!"  she  cried.  "Then  you 
have  no  hold  on  me!  Oh,  how  — " 

She  stopped,  perhaps  with  surprise  at  the 
change  in  his  face,  perhaps  with  pity. 

Chester  Clarke  sat  like  a  man  waiting  for 
the  fall  of  the  dagger  in  the  hand  of  a  trusted 
friend,  as  Caesar  may  have  looked  at  Brutus, 
not  resisting,  but  numbed  with  horror. 

He  pulled  himself  together.  He  was  pale, 
his  face  was  drawn,  but  he  spoke  calmly. 

"If  you  feel  that  way,  it  is  indeed  the 
end.  I  would  have  won  you  back,  if  my 
understanding  of  the  law  had  proved  correct. 
I  would  not  have  let  you  go  —  by  God,  I 
would  not!  I  would  have  saved  you  from 
yourself" — he  spoke  more  quietly  again  — 
"  I  would  have  saved  you,  Louise,  from 
what  I  now  see  you  mean  to  do.  I  would 
have  saved  your  happiness,  and  mine." 

He  paused.  She  lay  back  on  the  pillow 
again,  weak  in  reaction  from  the  great  stress 
of  emotion,  but,  as  he  saw  with  cruel  clear- 
ness, rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  "  freedom  " 
so  easily  attainable. 

For  three  or  four  minutes  no  word  more 
was  said. 

Then  Clarke  stood  up,  and  looking 
squarely  at  her,  with  his  hands  clasped 
331 


THE   UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

tightly  behind  his  back,  in  a  pose  character- 
istic of  him.  as  a  pleader,  he  said: 

"Louise,  what  is  your  decision?  It  must 
be  given  now,  once  and  for  all.  I  shall  not 
hold  you,  shall  not  try  to  hold  you,  if  you 
say  you  wish  to  go  —  free.  But  for  God's 
sake,  for  my  sake  and  for  your  own,  be 
careful  what  you  say!  There  can  be  no  re- 
consideration. Will  you  marry  me  —  now  — 
or—" 

His  brave  voice  broke. 

He  read  his  fate  in  her  face.  The  dream 
was  over.  His  idol  was  shattered.  His 
sweet  cup  of  love  was  turned  to  poison. 

She  had  the  grace  not  to  speak.  She 
simply  turned  away  her  lovely  head. 

Clarke  made  no  sound  of  grief.  It  was 
his  soul  that  groaned,  inaudibly. 

He  took  her  hand,  that  lay  on  the  outside 
of  the  bed.  He  carried  it  tenderly  to  his 
lips,  and  held  it  there  long  and  with  pas- 
sionate pressure. 

Still  no  word  escaped  his  lips,  no  groan 
was  wrung  from  his  heart  of  agony.  But  his 
body  trembled  pitifully. 

At  last  he  arose. 

The  room  was  very  dim  and  still. 

He  spoke,  softly,  yearningly,  but  with  an 
332 


THE  UNKNOWN  QUANTITY 

impressive  finality.     Just  two  words,  but 
they  set  the  seal  of  irrevocable  renunciation 
upon  the  love-life  of  Chester  Clarke. 
"  Goodbye,  Louise ! " 

Walking  in  the  park,  hours  afterward,  a 
man,  calm  enough  to  all  appearances  but 
actually  just  emerging  from  the  dark  depths 
of  a  maelstrom  of  suffering,  stood  in  the 
moonlight  atop  a  little  knoll  and,  raising  his 
hand  like  one  who  takes  a  solemn  oath,  pro- 
nounced these  words  in  a  voice  vibrant  with 
mingled  passion  and  resolve : 

"  I  am  the  master  of  my  fate  — 
I  am  the  captain  of  my  soul." 

And  Chester  Clarke  went  forth  to  meet 
his  future,  well  aware  of  its  difficulties, 
but  consciously  strong  to  bear  the  burden, 
and  never  to  turn  back  to  the  closed  pages 
hi  the  book  of  his  life. 


333 


EPILOGUE 

ON  a  certain  day  of  July  in  19 — ,  a  man 
stopped  in  front  of  a  beautiful  place 
in  the  most  exclusive  residential  section  of 
San  Francisco.  In  the  midst  of  spacious 
grounds,  embowered  with  flowering  shrubs 
and  trees,  stood  a  splendid  house.  It  was 
built  of  white  stucco,  in  mission  style,  and 
its  porches  and  balconies,  shaded  but  airy, 
and  its  many  vine-framed  and  sun-screened 
windows,  gave  promise  of  very  comfortable 
living  for  those  who  called  it  home. 

The  man  was  tall  and  distinguished  in 
appearance.  A  student  of  mankind  would 
have  looked  at  him  a  second  time  in  any 
gathering,  so  clear  a  story  was  recorded,  in 
his  strong  features,  of  a  struggle  with  fate 
and  a  conquest  of  hostile  circumstances. 
After  a  few  minutes  he  arrested  an  old 
gentleman  who  happened  to  be  passing,  with 
the  inquiry: 

"Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  to  whom  this 
beautiful  house  belongs?  It  is  unusually 
attractive." 

334 


EPILOGUE 

"  With  pleasure,"  replied  the  old  gentle- 
man. "I'm  glad  you  like  it,  for  we  are 
quite  proud  of  it.  In  fact,  it  is  one  of  our 
show  places  —  all  the  sight-seeing  autos  stop 
in  front  of  it  and  the  lecturer  has  a  word  to 
say  of  the  charming  widow  who  lives  there." 

The  stranger  acknowledged  the  informa- 
tion with  a  slight  bow. 

"  The  place,  sir,"  continued  the  old  gentle- 
man, "is  called  by  us  San  Franciscans  the 
Alhambra.  It  is  the  home  of  hospitality;  it 
is  the  citadel  of  charity  and  religion;  it  is 
the  shrine  of  music,  the  temple  of  art  and 
literature;  it  is  the  house  of  mirth." 

"Indeed!"  exclaimed  the  stranger.  "I 
did  not  suppose  you  could  crowd  so  much 
under  one  roof  outside  a  bon  marche,  but  I 
could  believe  that  house  capable  of  almost 
anything." 

"That  house,"  said  the  gentleman,  "was 
built  by  an  old  fellow  from  Kansas  who  had 
retired  from  business.  He  had  a  lovely 
daughter,  a  widow,  who  took  the  Coast  by 
storm  and  became  creme  de  la  creme  of  our 
society.  Her  career  was  wonderful.  I  can 
take  a  little  personal  pride  in  it,  since  I 
might  be  said  to  have  been  the  architect  of 
her  fortunes." 

335 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

"  How  was  that? "  asked  the  stranger  with 
increased  interest. 

"Well,  I  have  a  good  deal,  quite  a  good 
deal,  of  influence  out  this  way.  I  control  the 
San  Francisco  Blade.  I  made  the  discovery 
a  good  many  years  ago,  or  perhaps  I  in- 
vented the  formula,  that  in  proportion  to 
the  space  that  a  woman  commanded  in  an 
American  newspaper  was  her  social  status 
determined,  if  the  thing  was  handled  right  — 
tactfully,  you  understand.  It  is  an  art,  Sir, 
and  I  have  mastered  it." 

"  I  was  charmed  with  this  lady.  I  had  no 
daughter  of  my  own,  and  I  unofficially 
adopted  her.  I  determined  to  put  my  for- 
mula into  operation  —  to  boom  her.  It 
was  n't  much  different  from  booming  a  gold 
mine  or  a  seaside  resort.  The  principle  is 
the  same,  and  I  had  the  goods.  She  was  a 
beauty,  she  had  money,  she  had  brains,  and 
she  aspired  to  shine. 

"  First  it  was  a  notice  of  her  dinner  party, 
then  her  picture  in  a  fetching  gown,  then  a 
word  of  speculation  as  to  what  her  next 
triumph  would  be. 

"  It  worked,  sir.  It  worked  to  a  charm. 
More  than  that,  my  methods  seem  to  have 
met  a  long  felt  want,  for  they  have  been 
336 


EPILOGUE 

adopted  in  the  East;  in  fact,  are  fast  be- 
coming a  national  institution. 

'Your  grandmother,  young  man,  might 
have  shrunk  from  such  publicity,  but  a '  bud ' 
would  never  bloom  in  these  days  unless  she 
was  exposed,  at  least  once  a  month  during 
the  season,  to  the  sunshine  of  newspaper 
publicity. 

"  But  to  return  to  what  I  was  telling  you 
of  the  beautiful  widow — she  was  born  to 
command  adulation,  praise,  and  the  power 
which  money  brings.  She  revelled  in  the 
social  struggle  which  she  entered  against  all 
comers  and  she  won.  In  fact,  she  has  carried 
her  success  so  far  that  she  has  turned  the 
tables  on  the  newspapers.  No  newspaper 
would  be  in  the  running  without  the  story 
of  her  doings. 

"  Her  social  functions  must  be  followed 
and  reported,  the  size  of  her  contributions  to 
charitable  and  religious  enterprises  must  be 
stated,  since  they  set  the  pace  for  others  to 
follow. 

"  She  is  a  patron  of  music.  She  has  put 
a  dozen  aspirants  in  the  way  of  a  successful 
music  career.  The  budding  poet  and  artist 
find  refuge  under  the  shadow  of  her  wings. 
She  is  a  devoted  church- woman.  A  mission 
337 


THE   UNKNOWN   QUANTITY 

chapel  stands  in  the  Sand  Lots,  as  a  me- 
morial to  her  father.  The  priest  and  the 
reformer  are  beholden  to  her  bounty.  The 
poor  are  never  turned  away  from  her  door 
empty-handed,  and  the  '  four  hundred '  have 
named  her  place  the  house  of  mirth.  All  of 
this  and  more  the  newspapers  have  duly  re- 
ported and  enlarged  upon. 

"  Theoretically,  a  woman  having  every- 
thing in  the  world  to  make  her  happy  and 
with  no  man  to  dominate  her  ought  to  be 
miserable,  perfectly  miserable;  but  you  see, 
this  one  is  n't.  I  '11  be  sworn,  she  is  n't. 
Quite  the  contrary;  she  is  happy,  radiantly 
happy,  because  she  is  constantly  in  the  lime- 
light and  she  revels  in  her  power." 

"And  the  lady's  name,  sir?"  asked  the 
stranger. 

"Oh,  yes,  the  lady's  name!  The  name  is 
Mrs.  Walter  Willoughby.  You  must  have 
heard  it." 

'Yes,  I  have  —  I  have  heard  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  met  her? "  asked  the 
old  man  —  "very  lovely — " 

'  Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  "I  —  I  think  I 
met  her  once.  That  was  some  time  ago. 
The  house  seems  closed." 

"  Yes,  she  is  abroad,"  replied  the  elderly 
338 


EPILOGUE 

man,  "in  London.  She  has  just  been  pre- 
sented at  Court.  The  newspapers  gave  a 
column  to  her  gown,  all  cabled  across  at 
twenty-five  cents  a  word." 

He  paused  a  moment  in  reflection,  then 
said: 

"  She  has  reached  the  goal  she  set  for  her- 
self, the  highest  pinnacle  of  social  greatness." 

Leaving  San  Francisco,  the  stranger 
apostrophized  the  city: 

"  Serene,  indifferent  of  fate 
Thou  sittest  at  the  Western  gate." 


339 


A     000128231     8 


